Four Days
by Fletset
Summary: COMPLETED. Cartman's verbal abuse is one thing. Violent Anti-Semitism is another. (SLASH StanKyle).
1. Thursday

**Disclaimer: **I don't own South Park, I write this story just for the fun of it…

**Author's Note: **Hey all!

This is my first South Park fic, so please be gentle :)

I think that South Park is a show of humor, but I have seen a few good drama fics out there, yet mine still feels a bit… out of place. I hope you'll like it :)

And by the way- English is not my native language, so my apologies if I have spelling or grammar mistakes :X

**Four Days**

Thursday- To the Dim Light of the Candles

Kyle Broflovski trudged along pavement, dragging his feet tiredly through the snow. The air was freezing and it bit his pale face, making him that glad today was not January yet, thus the snow wasn't too deep yet, and it did not even fall that hard. Usually he enjoyed walking through the snow and watching it fall, but not today. All he wanted to do now was lie down on a bed and fall asleep. He had the most annoying day!

First of all, he had to stay until late in school to finish a paper- that was one of the reasons he hated high school so much. When he was finally done with that accursed English paper, he was late for his part-time job, and had to serve candies for bratty-little kids. And now, already after 10PM, he was the only one out in the cold night, making his way to Stan's house. He'd have to apologize ahead for his lack of will to play video games, and promise that they would play them tomorrow. All he wanted to do now was go to sleep.

His legs moved by themselves like a well oiled machine as his eyes drooped, and he licked his dry lips. All that is left is to pass the small shopping-center and then he-

"Hey!" a voice called from the darkness, and Kyle turned around to face a grown man, accompanied by two of his friends. They held half-filled bottles of beer and vodka, and their faces were flushed. "What'cha doin' up so late?" asked the man, his eyes half closed and his speech slurred. Kyle ignored, turned around, and kept on walking. He never saw those men before, and he guessed they probably came to South Park to get drunk senseless. "Hey!" the man shouted. "I'm talkin' to ya!" but Kyle ignored, and then he heard the man discussing something with his two friends. A short moment later Kyle's arms were held painfully behind his back by one of the men, making him face the rest. "No one ignores me!" said the first man, and signaled something for the man who was holding Kyle like a prisoner. The grip on his arms tightened. Kyle screamed at the pain. Then a third man came and held a knife to his face. "Gimme your money, you son of a bitch!" the first man said, and the man with the knife took Kyle's schoolbag off of his back and emptied it on the snow-filled sidewalk. He violently moved the various notebooks about, finally pulling out a black wallet. He threw it to the first man, who opened it. He pulled out two dollars, the only money Kyle had that day, and then he cocked an eyebrow. "So little?" he asked, his eyes widening a bit a moment later. "Broflovski…" his driving license… "You're a Jew!" the man threw his had back, laughing hysterically, and Kyle wondered whether someone heard the crazy sound and is on the way to save him.

"Let me go, you bastards!" Kyle hissed and tried to pull away, but the grip only tightened.

The first man approached him, stepping on the already soaked notebooks, and held Kyle's chin, forcing him to look up at him. "We hate Jews…" he said, his voice filled with venom. He slapped Kyle across the face. "You're a Jew! A rich Jew, where's the rest of the money!"

Kyle felt tears stinging his eyes and the pain stinging his cheek. "I don't have any…" he whispered, and was slapped across the other cheek.

"You lie!" the man shouted, and the man who held him took his coat off and gave it to the man with the knife, who searched the pockets. When he found nothing, he moved to Kyle's pants' pockets. He threw what he found to the first man- a single penny.

The man smirked, and kicked Kyle's leg, causing it to buckle as Kyle screamed. "Let us show ya what we do to Jews who lie…"

Kyle paled and screamed as the first punch hit his stomach, but no one heard his shouts of horror and pain.

**oOo**

Stanley Marsh kicked the fridge with frustration, cursing under his breath. He was supposed to have Kyle over in his house for the weekend. Since his parents went to a hotel in Florida and his sister was bitching somewhere across the land, he figured he could make use of the empty house. Problem was- no normal food was around, nor someone who could make it for him.

He figured he'd have to go to the Pizza place in the shopping-center - assuming it was still open - and order. He hated their pizza, though…

Kyle was late for some reason, and the snow was begging to fall harder outside. Stan grumbled, grabbed his coat, put on his shoes and stomped out, cursing all the way down the street.

As he walked, he wondered what toppings would Kyle prefer. He felt a blush creeping to his cheeks and shook his head. For the past few months he felt… odd around Kyle, and he wondered why Cartman's porn only turned him on when he was younger. One of the reasons he wanted to have Kyle over for the weekend was to make sure, although he was certain he was not some stupid fag. There was simply no way on earth he has a crush on his best friend.

His train of thought was cut violently as he tripped and fell on his face. He shouted in frustration and turned around, ready to kick whatever rock he had tripped over, getting even angrier knowing he was the only madman out right now. But as he saw the "rock" he paled and stood up immediately, his eyes wide with shock.

A leg… he tripped over a naked leg. He gulped as he followed that part of person… or body. He was able to see the small amount of blood on the snow, and he noted that only a little part of the body was covered in snow. That person probably collapsed a short while ago.

Stan crouched and brushed the snow from the face hesitantly, wondering if it's a homeless bum or a victim of cruel violence, in which case he'd have to phone the police. He paled when he was done revealing the young face. "Kyle…" he stood up straight, shocked beyond words.

Stan stood there, dumbfounded, not sure what to do. He stared at his friend, his hair whipping about in the wind as snowflakes got stuck in it. He bit his cold lip. Slowly it dawned into him that something terrible had occurred there, and Stan found his voice again. "Kyle!" he shouted and crouched down, not minding the snow soaking his pants.

Kyle's eyes were shut, and only a pair of white underwear covered his body.

Stan shook him, panic filling his whole. "Kyle! Kyle, wake up!"

But Kyle did not answer. Stan bit his lip once again, looking about to see if there might be a cop around, or a public phone. To his dismay, the only public phone around was smashed- he remembered it being like that since sometime around last summer.

"Damn it!" Stan cursed again and lifted Kyle's limp body up, running clumsily- as Kyle's weight slowed him down- to his house.

When they finally arrived, Stan put Kyle down and fumbled with the key, gritting his teeth against the biting wind. When he finally managed to unlock the door he kicked it open and stumbled inside. Then he stepped outside again and dragged Kyle inside, laying him in front of the fireplace, and ran upstairs to get blankets. He almost started crying as he found out that the electricity was out, and that the phone was dead.

Damn those snowstorms…

He ran back down the stairs, holding two heavy blankets and wrapping them around Kyle when he got back down, noting that his best friend was shaking. He propped him up against the wall and held him, ignoring any thoughts he may have had and the blush that crept again, hoping to transfer whatever body heat he had left to his friend, and wondered who could do such a thing to Kyle.

Kyle was a good kid: he was nice, had morals and conscience, and never did a bad thing to anyone, unless they really had it coming, and even then he felt bad about it.

After about an hour, in which Kyle still hadn't woken up, Stan decided he should move to plan B: he took Kyle in his arms and carried him upstairs to the shower. He put him down on the carpet and went back down to bring some candles to light. He put them on the floor in various spots, also using a flashlight.

He opened the tap and waited until the water got warm enough. He plugged the hole in the tub and waited until it was filled with the hot water.

He turned around to face Kyle and gulped. All that is left now is to take off the white underwear. He became beet-red at the thought. Lately, he found it hard just _looking _at Kyle without wanting to hug him all of the sudden, and now he had to see him… naked?

He did not know how he would react when he'd take that piece of cloth off, and he was afraid at what he might find out about himself. He mentally slapped himself and reminded himself that the important thing now was to help Kyle- not pondering about him not being a fag. He took a deep breath and was about to get the job done when he noticed something else: Kyle had blue marks and shallow cuts all over his body.

To the dim light of the candles Stan saw those swastikas engraved in Kyle's arms and stomach, some are still bleeding and some are not.

To the dim light of the candles the full force of what had happened to his best friend hit him like a rock to the face, and to the dim light of the candles Stan hugged the underwear-clad boy and wept.

_  
To Be Continued…_

**Author's Note: **I took the anti-Semitism to an extreme point here, I know. I doubt if something like happened to someone in the U.S, but I know it could happen someday, so… but yes, I know it may be a bit exaggerated…

Please review :X

_-E2K_


	2. Into Friday

**Disclaimer: **See previous chapter…

**Author's Note: **Thank you for all of those, who reviewed! It gave me the will to go on with this story! :)

Again, My apologies for spelling or grammar mistakes…

**  
Four Days**

Into Friday: Evidences

Stan worked on Kyle slowly, making sure to be gentle around the scratches and blue marks. His face were still wet from crying, but he figured it won't help Kyle any, so he took the underwear off quickly and gently laid him in the tub, making sure the head was above the water.

He took the sponge and soaped Kyle, cleaning the dirt and the blood. He took slow and deep breaths to calm himself down, so he won't have the urge to do anything.

This wasn't right; here Kyle was, badly hurt, and all Stan could think about was… he shook his head furiously, feeling the blood rushing to his face once again. Kyle's eyes were closed, and it looked like he was sleeping calmly. Stan licked his lips, and then, realizing his thoughts, hit his forehead with his palm. "I am not a fucking fag…" he said quietly to himself. "I'm not…."

He returned his gaze to Kyle's face, and his heart skipped a beat as he saw his best friend's eyelids flutter open, and after a second Kyle paled, shouted, and sat up quickly, splashing water everywhere.

He tried to get away, Stan realized. He tried to get away… from him. "Kyle! Kyle!" Stan shouted, gripping his best friend's shoulders in an attempt to prevent him from hurting himself further.

Kyle's scared eyes roamed about, and his breathing was fast. "They're after me…" he said, and repeated this sentence time and time again, still not quite getting where he was at the moment.

"Kyle!" Stan tried again, but as he saw that there was still no response, he bit his bottom lip - pleading for forgiveness for what he was about to do – and slapped his friend across the face. It seemed to help: Kyle was silent for a moment, but then returned to flap about in the water.

Stan watched his distressed friend with unsure eyes. Never before had he seen Kyle, or anyone for that matter, acting like that. Stan knew that he had to do something and that he couldn't leave Kyle like that, so he took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around Kyle's upper body and held him, not minding the water that soaked his clothes. It took awhile, but eventually Kyle calmed down.

"S-Stan?" he whispered hoarsely.

"I'm here. Calm down, Kyle, please…" Stan whispered back. Someone tugged at his sleeve, and Stan heard Kyle crying, feeling him burying his head in his chest. "Shh…" Stan tried to sooth, but Kyle only cried harder.

At some point or another, Kyle fell asleep once more in Stan's protecting arms, and Stan finished bathing him quickly and dressed him with that ugly pajamas his grandfather bought him for his sixteenth birthday last year. It was a bit big on Kyle's body, but it still did the work.

Gently, Stan carried Kyle to his bedroom and laid him on the bed, relieved (and… happy?) at the fact that the bed was big enough to have both of them on it, and at the fact that apparently, Kyle's condition was not fatal.

It was pretty late into the night when Stan was done, and only when he made sure that Kyle was sleeping soundly did he allow his own tiredness to creep in, and lay down next to Kyle.

He was lying awake for a few moments, thoughts flooding his mind like a Tsunami over an island and preventing the so-awaited-for-sleep from him.

How would Kyle react when he'll wake up in the morning? Would he be able to tell him what had happened? Would he be somewhat delirious again? Would he be sick after lying almost naked in the snow?

Stan sighed heavily and ran his hand through his black hair. Even in the silence of the night he couldn't even hear Kyle's breathing, and every few seconds he looked sideways and made sure his best friend was still alive.

When he felt his eyes closing by themselves he brushed his hand against Kyle's and left it there, for as long as he felt it's warmth it meant that Kyle was alive, and he hoped that if Kyle would wake up before he does, that touch would calm him down and he wouldn't go into hysterics again.

And so, Stanley Marsh fell asleep just three hours before dawn.

**oOo**

_He was standing alone in a dark room, and the silence was heaving upon his ears. He was about to call for someone, but he had no idea just how he even got there, so he had no idea who was supposed to be there with him, making calling out for someone quite… useless.._

_Suddenly he heard a voice from afar, which got closer and closer by the second. "Jew!" the high-pitched voice called. "Stupid Jew!" _

_Almost by an instinct, Kyle backed away from the taunting voice, which he identified as Cartman's. Kyle bumped into something in the process, and before he could move away from there and run, a small pocket-knife was held to his face as three men laughed behind him and joined Cartman in his taunting. Cartman's voice got weaker, and those men's got louder as they punched him all over his body. Kyle wanted to scream, he wanted to run, but he had nowhere to go. When he felt it was all too much, two strong arms pulled him out of the chaos. "Shh…" another, new voice, soothed. "Calm down, I'm here…"_

Kyle awoke with a start, sweating all over and breathing fast. He felt the lunch he had thatday making it's way up, and he threw his hand to his mouth. He stood up and painfully made his way out of the room he was currently in, his feet wobbling and his body aching all over. He quickly (and luckily) realized it was Stan's home (just not fully realizing _how_ he got there…) and ran to the bathroom. He fell to his knees in front of the toilet and his lunch spewed out of his mouth and into the ceramic seat. When he was done, he coughed and wiped his mouth with his sleeve and stood up, feeling dizzy. With one hand Kyle held his head, and with the other he held the edge of the sink. The light was dim, for some of the candles were still lit.

Kyle breathed in deeply, calming his nerves. He then opened the tap and drank some water, not minding the fact they were freezing nor the fact that it would add to his own freezing and shakes. He had to get that terrible taste out of his mouth.

He remembered the men, he remembered the punches. He had no idea what he was doing in Stan's house and not at some morgue, though. He was sure he'd die…

Kyle wrapped his arms around his body. He was cold, so very cold…

He looked at his reflection in the mirror, light from the window beginning to enter the room as the sun rose, and Kyle was able to see his face full with scratches. He pulled his sleeves up, and noticed the blue marks on his arms, and… swastikas?

Those neo-Nazis drew swastikas on him with their knife?

Kyle panicked at the silent evidence engraved into his arms, and quickly unbuttoned the Pajama he was wearing, wondering where the heck did Stan get that ugly piece of cloth, and watched in horror as more Swastikas came into the light.

Kyle touched them gently, as if trying to erase them and their existence, and tears streamed out of his eyes. He felt ashamed. Why on earth would God let this kind of thing happen to one of his chosen people? Had Kyle did something wrong? So very wrong it was unforgiven? He did have a fight with his mom earlier this morning about a car issue (again), and he did say he hated her, but… he wasn't serious. Heck, he was quite sure that even his mother knew he wasn't serious! So why would mighty, know-it-all God think otherwise?

He did much worse things when he was just a little kid, and never before his punishment had been so drastic… Well, God did send Cartman to him, but…

Kyle checked his legs, and was somewhat relieved to find them free from Nazi symbols. He sniffed and wiped his eyes, only managing to make himself sob harder into his hands. He slowly fell to his knees and wept, touching the Swastikas from a time to time, yet not managing to make them disappear. He felt sick.

_Sick, sick sick._

He held his head and sobbed, then coughed, and then sobbed again.

_Cold, cold, cold._

Yet no matter how much he cried, or how much the tears spilled and wet his body, or how much he willed it… the Swastikas stayed there, and he knew that some would leave scars that would remind him that terrible day forever.

Sick. He felt sick, mentally and physically.

Sick.

He wanted to disappear. And just when he felt that he was invisible, when the small fire on the candles didn't burn any longer and the sunrays remained somewhat dark, the light turned on in the bathroom.

Kyle gasped and looked at the doorway, seeing Stan standing there and looking at him through sad eyes, his hand on the wall where the switch is. "Looks like the electricity is back…" he said, and Kyle almost wanted to kick him for having turned the light on and making the evidences so much more visible. No matter how hard he tried, he wouldn't be able to hide them from his best friend. There were too many.

"Don't look!" Kyle shouted, trying to cover his abdomen with his arms and shutting his eyes. "Fuck off and don't look at me!"

The light was turned off, and Kyle heard Stan stepping closer to him and felt him stroking his hair gently. "Is that better?' he asked.

"Don't look…" Kyle whispered and bowed his head in shame. "Don't look at the evidences…"

Then Stan pulled Kyle into a tight hug, and for a second, just for a second, Kyle felt like those marks weren't there anymore.

_  
To Be Continued…_


	3. Friday Morning

**Disclaimer: **South Park is not mine :O

**Author's note: **Happy Chanukah!

And sorry for spelling or grammar mistakes...

**Four Days**

Friday Morning: Guest

When Stan woke up, the first thing he was aware of was the fact that Kyle wasn't lying next to him anymore. He panicked and sat up, wondering whether Kyle woke up and left, possibly hysterical and delirious again. That is, until he heard the soft crying coming from the direction of the bathroom.

Stan got up and walked out, noticing the light that was coming from the kitchen downstairs. He remembered he left it on when he left the house for the shopping-center earlier, meaning the electricity was back. Stan tried the phone on the small table next to his parents' bedroom, but it was still out.

Stan walked to the bathroom and opened the door, turning the light on. Sure enough, there was Kyle; his pajama shirt tossed on the tiled floor and his arms hugging his stomach area, tears streaming down his face.

Kyle turned his gaze towards him, pale. "Looks like the electricity is back…" Stan said, and Kyle yelled at him to fuck off and not look at him. It wasn't often that Kyle cursed him like that, and Stan was somewhat hurt, but he let it go, understanding the condition that Kyle was in.

He turned off the light and crouched next to Kyle, stroking his red hair. "Is that better?" he asked, and once again Kyle told him, though not so loud this time, not to look at him. Stan pulled him into a tight hug and let him cry on his shoulder, noticing the hotness of Kyle's forehead against his own cold neck, and he was silent, rubbing his sick friend's back.

"Look at what they've done to me…" Kyle sobbed.

"Shh…" Stan soothed. "It's all right now…" he said. "I won't let them get you again."

"Don't you see?" Kyle screamed and pulled away, and Stan found himself feeling quite sad at this fact. "They're everywhere! Everywhere! Wherever you don't look! They're there… lurking in the darkness and just waiting for a chance to attack! There is the kind of Cartman, and there is the kind of… those people."

As Kyle kept on with his outburst, Stan couldn't help but wonder. Except for Cartman, Kyle never experienced anti-Semitism, and now after only one incident-

No. His line of thought was wrong. It wasn't just "one incident"; it was a terrible and brutal attack, meant to kill his best friend. If Stan wouldn't have got there when he did, he was positive he would have lost his friend to the gale and snow. No wonder Kyle was being paranoid.

"I will protect you…" he said quietly. "Don't cry…"

But Kyle kept on saying that they were everywhere, that no place was truly safe. Stan thought that he thought that because South Park was a little town, where everyone knew everyone, and there he goes one night and almost gets killed for his beliefs. But still, Stan thought that Kyle was acting just a little too paranoid. At most, he thought, he should be scared of the people, who did this to him, not of… everyone. Could what those people have done to him been so terrible, that something within his psyche snapped?

They saw a lot of people being killed when they were children in elementary school, they witnessed lots of craziness. Kyle even got beaten up once for not acting like a fag. This shouldn't have made him act like that, that incident. Then what…

_He had only his underwear on._

Stan froze. Just… what was that thought? He gulped, and looked down at his sobbing friend. No way… if he had them on, that means they never got them off, which means they never did anything…

_He could have gotten them back on himself before he lost consciousness._

Stan shook his head, refusing to believe. Now he was being paranoid himself. "Come on, Kyle," he said quietly and helped him up, supporting his back as he escorted him out of the bathroom and back into his bedroom. He helped him lie down on the bed. "You're sick. Let me get you some medicine, and then go to sleep. You'll feel better when you'll wake up." When Stan was about to leave, he felt Kyle tugging at his shirt.

"Don't go…" the Jewish boy begged with teary eyes. "I don't want to be alone, please!"

Stan frowned. Kyle was acting strange indeed, even for this kind of attack. Sure, it could be because he was sick at the moment, but still…

Stan sat down on the edge of the bed and returned to play with Kyle's hair- and act he had found somewhat enjoyable. It didn't mean that he was a stupid fag, of course. He liked to play with his own hair sometimes, and he was pretty sure that that didn't mean anything.

"I'm going just for a minute, dude. I'll be right back," he said.

Kyle shook his head and gripped Stan's hand. "A minute is enough for them to…" then he trailed off and looked away. He left Stan's arm, almost violently, and then covered himself up and turned to the side, sulking.

"Kyle?" Stan asked quietly, unsure as to how he should react. "Are you okay, dude?" he asked, and was about to pull the covers off of his friend, but Kyle told him to go.

Stan frowned, withdrew his hand, got up and left to get some medicine.

The medicines were in the small cabinet in his parents' bathroom. He pulled out various packs of various pills, wondering why the heck would they posses something like a pill against hemorrhoids in their house when none of the members of his family have ever got it, until he pulled the pack of those yellow pills against fever and aches.

He smiled as he retrieved the small pack and went back to his bedroom, only to find out that Kyle wasn't there any longer. "Kyle?" he called, looking around, but no one answered him.

He walked slowly through the hall so he could hear any sound that Kyle made, which would pinpoint his current whereabouts. He found him in the bathroom, eventually- his shirt once again tossed aside, his eyes once again shut and leaking, hugging himself once again and telling Stan to fuck off and not to look at him. And Stan sighed, helped him up once again, and this time, he didn't leave his side until he was sure his friend was sleeping soundly.

* * *

It became some sort of routine, even though only about six hours passed since Stan found Kyle in the bathroom for the first time that morning, when the sun rose. Stan would wait until Kyle fell asleep, then he would go downstairs to eat, watch TV or do whatever, and when about half an hour later he would go up again to check on Kyle, the Jewish red head would not be there. Stan always found him in the same position on the same spot in the bathroom, as if his memory was erased when he fell asleep, and when he woke up a short time later he found those engraved swastikas anew.

When Stan would help him up time and time again, he found it somewhat strange that at times Kyle accepted his supporting touch, at times even welcomed it, and at other times he would try to push him away.

_Of course he would push you away, you idiot. He just had been rap-_

No! And even if so, why would he accept his touch at times?

_Because he's sick, you idiot.__ He needs _some_ support._

He shook his head, driving away those thoughts. He was currently sitting on a chair near his bed, one leg over the other, as he watched Kyle sleeping and the sunrays becoming brighter as the day progressed. He told himself that he would not rise from his seat until Kyle woke up, and Stan would make him go to sleep before his friend could go to the bathroom to cry again.

Kyle seemed to be sleeping soundly, and didn't show any signs of waking up… or living. Well, aside from that slow rise and fall of the blanket, but other than that… not a sound. Stan guessed it was because of the pill he finally remembered to give to him.

Stan ran his fingers through his black hair and sighed, feeling at loss. He really had no idea what to do once Kyle woke up again after getting enough sleep. He couldn't make him sleep forever, after all. He figured it would have been easier if Kyle just talked, but… Kyle only wept, and wept, and wept… and cursed him, too, but that didn't count as talking.

But what if what happened to Kyle had been so terrible, that he wouldn't be able to talk about it? Ever.

Stan frowned at the thought, but figured he'd just have to wait and see. A rustle of cloth was heard, and Stan was awakened from his thoughts to the sight of Kyle moving so that his face were now facing the ceiling, an act which caused the blanket to almost fall off.

Stan smiled and stood up, lifting the blanket and covering Kyle, making sure to tuck the blanket around him. This was Colorado in the winter, after all. He stood there and watched his friend sleep for a few more moments, and, feeling somewhat father-like, he bent down slowly and hesitantly and planted a light kiss on his forehead, hoping it would make Kyle having pleasant dreams instead of nightmares. And when the touch was made, Stan felt his feelings swooping him, and he wrapped his arms around Kyle's back and lifted him from the mattress, hugging him tightly to his chest and feeling his own tears coming to his eyes. He shut his eyes and a sob escaped his lips. He tightened his grip on his friend, not caring if he would wake up in the process. "I won't let them hurt you ever again," he said quietly, his voice quivering. "Ever again…"

After about a minute, Kyle still didn't show any signs of waking up, and Stan found it quite weird, considering he woke up every thirty minutes or so before. He assumed it was because his tiredness finally kicked in, and now he would get that sleep he deserved.

The doorbell made him jump. Who was it at the door? He didn't remember inviting anyone…

He caressed Kyle's cheek gently - promising him once again that he would protect him – before rushing downstairs to get the door. The one at the door rung again, making Stan curse under his breath. If the hug didn't wake Kyle up, then the shrill ring was sure to do so. He grumbled and opened the door, wondering whether he should yell at the person behind it for being so loud (even though they really didn't do anything…), but found himself at a loss of words when he realized just who that person was.

_Oh, fuck…_

"Hey, Stan," the person said, pushing his way around Stan and into his house. "You have anything to eat? I haven't eaten a thing since morning! I was at Kenny's house, and you know just how much food that poor family have." And without waiting for an answer, he went into the kitchen and searched the cabinets for any kind of food.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck…_

"Say," the person said after fishing out a chocolate bar and gobbling it down. "Wasn't Kyle supposed to be here? I haven't seen him yet, I thought you'd be playing with your Playstation or something…" the person looked around, searching for the Jew. "Or was he being Jewish and stood you up?" the person chuckled after saying it, which – under current circumstances – made Stan angry.

"Cartman," he hissed. "What the fuck are you doing here, fatass?"

The fat boy blinked in confusion. "Shut it, shit-face. You invited me."

He had? "When?" he asked, trying to remember, without much success.

"On Wednesday," Cartman replied, resuming his search for edible things. "You said you've got a new game for Playstation, and that you have the whole house for yourself, so…" he took a small bag off of his back and laid it on the table, pulling out a tape. "I've got us some treats for the night, if you know what I mean."

Stan resisted the urge to kick the fat boy in his nuts. "Yeah, but did I _specifically _invited you? Told you to come?"

Eric Cartman blinked in confusion once again. "No, not specifically… but I can take a hint. Kenny said he'd stop by later tonight." And before Stan had a chance to argue, Cartman fired yet another question. "So where is that stupid Jew?"

"He's upstairs, sleeping," Stan answered, his tone of speech low, almost threatening.

"Sleeping?" Cartman seemed to be taken aback by this. "It's almost one and he's sleeping? What did you two fags do all night to make him so tired?" and again, before Stan could argue, Cartman continued. "But I guess that since he's a Jew, it explains it."

Stan had to resist the urge to kick him once again. "Must you be here?" he asked.

"Why, yes. Of course," Cartman answered mockingly. "You want me to leave? Why? You have some unfinished business with your boyfriend upstairs?" he nodded his head in the direction, and Stan clenched his fist.

"Fatass," he cursed. "Look, Kyle's sick right now, so I'd really appreciate it if-"

"What's all the commotion about?" a new voice entered the scene, and the two boys turned around to face a flushed Kyle leaning against the wall. Stan paled, surprised to see him out of his bed and not in the bathroom crying for a change, and Cartman smirked.

"Hey, Jew," he said. "I hear you're sick?"

"Cartman, please-" Stan tried, but it was too late.

"What, those Jewish germs finally got the best of you or something?" the fat boy asked, and before he could laugh and wait for a smart-ass retort from Kyle, his airways were suddenly blocked as the Jewish boy attempted to strangle him.

"I dare you to say that once again, fatass!" Kyle yelled into his ear. "I dare you to say it again!"

Stan tried to pull him off, but Kyle freed one hand from Cartman's neck and pushed him away. "Don't you see, Stan?" he asked. "This how it starts! This is how all of it starts!"

Cartman, seeing that only one hand was holding his neck at the moment, took advantage of the situation and pushed Kyle away. "You crazy Jew!" He screamed, his voice almost inaudible, and then he coughed. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?!"

"Shut the fuck up!" Kyle hollered, tears springing to his eyes. "Don't you dare get on my case _ever_ again!"

"It's only the truth!" Cartman retorted, his voice still off somewhat, and in response a hand collided with his cheek.

Kyle went silent and blinked. So did Cartman. Both of them turned their eyes to see Stan standing in front of Cartman, his hand posed up high and his eyes glaring. "Shut the hell up, fatass." He hissed. "Just shut the hell up…"

"So I take it you don't want to play now?" Cartman asked after a short moment of silence passed between the three, and the urge to kick him finally get the better of Stan, and his leg collided with Cartman's fat leg. "Ey!" the fat boy shouted. "What did I do?"

"Come on, Kyle," Stan said, holding Kyle's shoulder protectively. "Let's go see if your fever went down…" and so, they turned around and left, leaving Cartman in the kitchen alone.

"Oh, well," Cartman shrugged, and then smiled, opening the fridge and taking out the ingredients for a sub sandwich.

_  
To Be Continued…_


	4. Friday

**Disclaimer: **South Park is not mine, I am writing this story just for the pure fun of it…

**Author's Note: **Thank you so much for all the great reviews!!

I'd like to respond to two people, though:

**jinjue**I didn't know that, thank you. But… as a Jew, I can say that if I know a last name as a Jewish one, then the next times I'll come across it I'll think it's Jewish, even when it's not. That's what happened to those guys, I guess :P

**Leela's tears**: I never said the snowstorm was over, true, but as every storm, it passed. Stan's parents aren't coming home because, and I said it in the first chapter, they are on vacation for the weekend. And who said no one else couldn't come? Incapability of coming is one thing, incapability of coming because no one called for you is another. And the snowstorm was over; I thought it was quite obvious, sorry if it wasn't. Anyway, I hope I made this clear, and thank you for reading :)

Merry Christmas to all, and sorry for spelling or grammar mistakes!

**  
Four Days**

Friday: Broken

Kyle opened his eyes groggily and moaned in pain as he moved. Someone was yelling downstairs. He sat up, feeling a bit dizzy, but nothing too bad. This was Stan's house he was in, and he remembered he made plans with his best friend for a sleep-over, he just didn't remember _when_ he got to his best friend's house.

He descended the stairs, the shouts making his head ache. He used the wall for support, and upon getting closer to the kitchen he identified those voices as Stan and Cartman's. He remembered that Stan told him that it would be just the two of them over the weekend. He walked into the kitchen, leaned on the wall closest to the doorframe and asked - "what's all the commotion about?"

Stan and Cartman turned to look at him, Stan seeming quite shocked. Then Cartman began with his Jew-clichés. Stan was about to tell him to stop (didn't get to finish his plea, though), which Kyle found somewhat surprising since Stan rarely said anything, and then Cartman said - "what, those Jewish germs finally got the best of you or something?"

In less than a second Kyle remembered yesterday's night's events, and in less than a second Kyle held Cartman's neck, seething with anger. As they argued, Stan tried once again to stop it, and Kyle yelled at him. Cartman took advantage of the situation and pushed him away. When Cartman said it was merely the truth that he was saying, Stan – to their surprise – slapped him across the face. He then helped Kyle up and took him back to the bedroom to check if his fever went down.

Kyle sat on the bed and Stan crouched in front of him, giving him the thermometer (A/N: Am I right about this word? :X). "Are you feeling better?" he asked softly and Kyle nodded, his face red from anger and fever. "That's good to hear… I'll go get rid of Cartman and then I'll go make you some soup. Or try to, at least." Stan stood up.

"Why is he here, Stan?" Kyle asked. "You said it would be just the two of us… it wasn't _just _us in a long time…"

Stan shrugged. "He decided by himself to come over. I'm going down, you try and get some sleep in the meanwhile." Just when Stan was about to step out, the electronic instrument beeped, indicating that the fever had been taken.

Kyle pulled it out of his mouth and looked at the digital numbers. "101.3F(38.5C)…"

Stan frowned. "Still high," he said, "but not as high as yesterday. Well, I'm going."

Kyle nodded as Stan stepped out and then he lay under the covers. He shook, the terrible memories refusing to leave his mind, and he curled up. He pulled his sleeve up, looked at the source of pain, and found the swastikas anew. Kyle never felt that afraid in his entire life.

**oOo**

"Cartman," Stan said as he stepped into the kitchen. "I want you out of here. Now."

Carmtan turned to look at him, his eyes confused and his mouth full with pieces of bread and cheese. "Why?" he asked. "It's Kyle who started!"

Stan shook his head. "No."

Cartman huffed and leaned backwards on the wooden chair. "You always protect him, take his side. Are you gay or something?"

Stan blushed. "Of course not! It's just that you always get on his case!"

"Oh? Then why are you blushing?" Cartman asked.

Stan became even redder. "You would blush too if you were accused of being gay!"

"Oh really?" The fat boy mocked. "Try me!"

"Fag!" Stan screamed. "Stupid fag!"  
"See? I'm not blushing." Cartman replied. Oh, how Stan hated it when he was right…

"That's because you're a fatass!"

Cartman chuckled. "You are a fag, aren't you?"

"I hate you…" Stan hissed, his eyes threatening like a snake's. "Get out!"

"Is the truth that hard to accept?" the other boy asked as he rose from his seat by the kitchen table. "You're just like Kyle. I told him something about his stupid Judaism and he attacked me. Denial."

Stan's eyes narrowed in anger as he wished Cartman would just vanish from his sight. "If only that was the reason he got so angry…" he said quietly.

Cartman blinked in confusion. "Is there another reason?"

"Yes, and it's none of your business, fatass!"

"Sure it is! He's my friend, too!"

"No one who insults him all the time is worth of being called his friend!"

"It's not my fault he's a stupid Jew!" The next thing Cartman knew was that he was being pulled violently by the collar of his shirt, Stan probably wanting to lift him off the ground, but not managing to do so because of the weight difference. "Look, Cartman," he spat. "Something happened, alright? Something that made Kyle like glass- if you touch him hard enough, he would break. Now, I'd appreciate it if you just leave before you make things worse!"

Cartman pulled his collar back down, by that releasing himself from Stan's grip. "Look, Stan… I don't know what you think, but I think I know why you think whatever you think." Stan cocked his eyebrow. "It's not Kyle that I hate, really. It's everyone I don't like. Kyle is just easier to pick on, from obvious reasons." Stan glared, Cartman continued. "There are many kinds of friendships. Some are so strong that they hold up until old age. Others stay only through the school years, and at other friendships one may not like the others, but would still hang out with them because of lack of choice." As he spoke, Cartman made his way to the living room and sat on the couch, crossing his legs as if he owned the place.

Stan turned away. "Is that how you feel?" He asked.

Cartman shrugged. "Sometimes, I guess. But I don't like anyone, so don't take it personally."

Stan chuckled. "So now that we made things clear," Cartman continued, "could you please tell me what's wrong with Kyle so we can all keep on with our lives?"

Stan bit his lip, pondering the suggestion. Cartman wasn't the best of a friend, but he had the right to know… he became a part of it, after all. Stan wasn't too sure, though. He could tell him what he thinks, but Kyle… Kyle acted quite normal earlier, and Stan doubted that if he'd been… violated in some way he would be able to act like that.

"I went to buy pizza the other day, and I found Kyle," Stan started, talking quietly. "He was unconscious, and he had only his underwear on. There were blue marks and swastikas all over his body…" Stan shook at the memory. "I took him here, but the phone was out so I couldn't phone the hospital. It's still out. Kyle acted… weird when he woke up, I don't know… like he was in another world, as if he were a scared and lonely puppy, which led me to the thought…" he stopped for a moment. The tears chocked him and he wanted some time to calm down. His emotions were at chaos, as well. "He had only his underwear on…" Stan finished in a sad whisper.

Cartman cocked his eyebrow. "So Jew-boy got hit for being Jewish, and you think he'd been raped?" Stan cringed at the brutal way Cartman said it, but nodded, nonetheless. "I doubt that… if they really hit him for his religion, I don't think they'd want to… you know…"

"Maybe, but still. If they were able to do what they did…"

Cartman shrugged. "I really don't know what to say. You'd have to ask your boyfriend upstairs."

Stan glared at him once again. "Stop that, now's not the time to be joking."

"It's always the time, my dear Stan. Now, I think you should go up there and talk to him, while I stay here and keep myself busy."

Stan eyed him for a moment, but then decided that Cartman was right for a change, and so he went back to his room.

* * *

He couldn't describe the feeling, really. A mix of nausea, mercy, sadness and anger.

The first thing he noticed when he opened his bedroom's door was the covers shaking. "Kyle?" he asked tentatively, not wanting to scare him. He sat next to him on the bed and pulled the covers. The sight was… disturbing. Kyle was shaking, hugging himself, his eyes wide like saucers and his breathing fast. He looked… broken.

Panic rose. "Kyle, what's wrong?!" Stan shook his friend, his voice louder in an attempt to get his attention. Kyle turned around slowly and looked at him in the eyes, an act that Stan wished he didn't make. He looked like a completely different person, so different than the usually cheerful and bright teen he knew so well. He looked like he was in shock, of sorts. "Snap out of it already!" Stan yelled, feeling hopeless. Nothing seemed to help…

Kyle held his arm up for Stan to see. The sleeve was pulled down, and Stan's heart ached at the sight on the evil symbol. A memory came to his mind, a memory in which he remembered his mom kissing his ache spots when he was a little kid, thus making the pain go away.

He took his friend's arm in his hands, slowly moving his lips closer to that part of body. Lips made contact with skin, and Stan refused to let go. He kept going downwards, moving to the shoulder and then to the neck, intending to make all the pain go away so Kyle could finally be at ease. He felt the Jew's arms wrapping him, pulling him closer. He moved to the chin, and then to the corner of his mouth, holding Kyle's head. But then the supportive arms on his back fell, and Stan stopped. He sat back straight, feeling disgusted at himself and what he did. Kyle's eyes were shut.

He fell asleep.

_He could have fainted, for all you know._

Why? His fever went down.

_Because you reminded him…_

But he was hugging…

_He may have tried to pry you off, but was too weak._

Stan shook his head. He'd have to ask Kyle…

He took Kyle's hand in his own and held it, deciding that the next time Kyle wakes up not only he'd take a pill, but also tell him what happened that Thursday night.

_To Be Continued…_


	5. Friday Night

**Disclaimer: **see previous chapters…

**Author's Note: **Thank you for all of the reviews!!!! They're what keep me going, so review more! :D

By the way, I know that most people who read it are Slash fans, so I have a small request: if you may, have some free time or are bored, feel free to read "Fire" by me. It's my first Slash fic, and it came out… really good, if you ask me. For that reason I want many many people to read it! :)

**Four Days**

Firday Night: Realization

Disgust was an emotion he rarely felt, and even more so about himself. But he kissed his best friend, he hugged his best friend, he stood up for his best friend… and he wished he could do it all over again, what made him feel so disgusted.

It all came together somehow, like pieces of a puzzle: the fact that porn didn't interest him as much as it used to, the fact that lately he preferred to be around Kyle rather than his other friends, the fact that he couldn't even look at him anymore without feeling an urge to hug him, and most of all the fact that when he saw him lying in the freezing snow he felt… lost, like the world was falling apart around him.

Could it be that… he loved Kyle?

Stan sighed heavily and rubbed his temples, It felt… right somehow. And he was so happy when he felt Kyle's arms on his back that he…

He shook his head. He wasn't a stupid fag, he wasn't a stupid fag…

Why, though, this time this thought seemed to be much louder and much more forceful in his mind?

Kyle's groan shook Stan out of his thoughts and he fell to his knees next to the bed in anticipation. "Kyle?" he whispered, and the other boy's eyes opened slowly. None of them said a word, and then Kyle moved slowly, almost dragging himself towards his kneeling friend next to him.

Stan froze as the Jew wrapped his arms around him and rested his head on his shoulder, shaking. "Help me…" he whispered. "Make it all go away…" Stan shut his eyes, trying to fight the feelings that suddenly grew within him.

But feelings and will were stronger than the mind.

Stan breathed in quickly and wrapped his arms around his distressed friend. He kissed his forehead with little kisses, kissed the tears that begun falling again, kissed the flushed cheeks and the pleading lips…

_Did he really…?_

And Kyle was kissing him back.

_He did…_

"I love you so much, Kyle," he moaned within breaks. Kyle didn't reply and kept on kissing him passionately, whimpering into his mouth. Stan slowly rose from the floor and to his feet, climbing into the bed and positioning himself above Kyle. He kept on kissing him on the lips, the nose, the cheeks, the neck… anywhere he could access without much trouble.

"They hurt me…" Kyle said as Stan kissed his neck.

Stan stopped and lifted his head so he could look directly at Kyle. "What have they done to you?" Stan asked and looked into Kyle's tearful eyes.

"They hurt me," the Jew replied. "I ignored him and thy hit me and I… I collapsed… I don't remember what happened afterwards, but it hurts, Stan! It hurts so much!" Kyle was rambling, at times his words incoherent and at times clear. His gaze didn't stray from Stan's, and the blacked haired boy thought it looked like he was seeking help in him.

If it's help he wants, then help is what he's going to get. Stan lowered his head and kissed Kyle on the lips, silencing him.

"Am I that hated?" Kyle asked shakily as Stan pulled away.

Stan smiled softly and shook his head. "No, dude," he whispered, and in order to prove what he just said he leaned down once again and kissed his best friend.

**oOo**

His family was never a religious one: not only that only his dad could be identified as a Jew – unless one knew the family – because of the kippah he was wearing, but also when they rarely went to the synagogue the boys and girls were on the same floor and sitting in the same chairs.

His mother was lighting candles every Friday night after she was done making dinner, when the Shabbat came in, and Kyle could always hear her complain about the fact that she doesn't have any girls, who could help her with the task of food making and cleaning.

When Yom-Kippur came along, Kyle was forced to fast for a whole day, and even though he found that annoying as hell, it had its bright side: he once won a bet with Cartman. They betted that the fatass couldn't fast for a whole day, unlike Kyle.

His family was never a religious one, and yet, when he was just slightly sick his mother would make him lie in his bed and would sit next to him, holding the holy Bible in her hand and reading words from the book of Psalms. Words – which Kyle doubted – she didn't even know the meaning of.

And now, he found it weird that he was reminiscing about American-accented Hebrew words from the Bible, which prohibited homosexuality, as another boy was kissing him passionately.

For how long Stan hid his feelings? Kyle was quite shocked, to say the least, when he discovered that his best friend loved him. Kyle himself… he never really felt anything, or rather, he never thought about it, especially for the past twenty four hours. He always found he had other things to think about, so love was almost never there.

Was it wrong of him to use his best friend like that? He was freezing, and Stan's kisses kept him warm. He was scared, distraught, and Stan kept him from thinking about what happened… he made him feel loved. So Kyle let him do as he wished, kiss and hug and whatever. As long as it kept Kyle from thinking, it was okay, even if he himself weren't gay.

One thing that Kyle feared of was the fact that Stan might try something that Kyle didn't want him to try. Luckily for him, Stan seemed pretty satisfied with simply kissing his face, and Kyle was surprised, somewhat scared even, to find himself satisfied with that fact himself. He never had time or will to think about love, maybe that's why he never noticed…

Something came in touch with his skin under his shirt, and Kyle's eyes opened wide from the sudden pain. He found it hard to gasp with Stan's tongue in his mouth, and all that came out was a muffled cry, which Stan ignored and tightened his hold on him, causing more pain.

Pain made him think.

Thinking was bad.

He screamed into Stan's mouth and used all of his little strength to push him from above him. The other boy sat there, breathing heavily and his eyes wide, as his friend rolled from beneath him and held his aching spot. "D-don't…" he stuttered. "Please…"

He didn't see Stan bowing his head, and he didn't hear his sigh. He felt him leaving the bed, and he heard him shuffle his feet to the door. "Sorry," came the soft mumble as the door opened. "I really am…" and then it closed, and Kyle was left alone again.

* * *

When he came down the stairs Stan was greeted with the site of Cartman throwing the Playstation control on the floor angrily. "Fucking Japanese and their goddamned complicated games," he cursed.

Stan was sure he'd chuckle if it weren't for what happened upstairs in his bedroom. "Maybe you're just too stupid to play it," he said.

"Ey! Shut up, fag!" came the reply, and Stan stepped back and blushed a little. Cartman, seeing his response, smiled mischievously. "So, you two enjoyed your time together?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Stan asked quietly. Did he know?

"Seemed to take you long enough to talk to him," Cartman replied.

Stan clenched his fist in anger. "Shut the fuck up, Cartman! I'm not in the mood for your lame jokes."

"I actually thought it was quite good," and before Stan could launch himself at him, Eric Cartman continued: "so, did you get anything out of him?"

Stan bowed his head and sighed heavily. "Apparently, he pissed someone off and they found about his Judaism somehow. Seemed like that wasn't their plan ahead of time. Beating him for being a Jew, I mean. But still…"

"You didn't get the answers to the thing you want to know most." Cartman finished, and Stan nodded sadly. Cartman frowned. "Maybe it never happened, then," he said. "Maybe it's all in your head."

Stan bit his lip. Considering current occurrences, he became even more suspicious as to what happened to his best friend. "It's not…" he whispered. After all, it seemed that Kyle was enjoying the kisses. Why would he refuse to the touch? Unless, of course, something happened – and that was Stan's greatest current fear - which made him scared of it.

"Hm? Did you say something?"

"No," Stan replied and turned around, heading to the kitchen. "Nothing at all."

_  
To Be Continued…_


	6. More of Friday Night

**Disclaimer: **South Park is not mine…

**Author's note: **sorry about the lame chapter's name, but please understand me ;-;

My apologies for spelling or grammar mistakes. English is not my native language.

**Four Days**

More of Friday Night: Cartman

He was never fond to any of them; not to Kyle, not to Stan, and even not to Kenny, whom he considered his best friend. It's not that he liked the poor kid, but since Stan and Kyle were stuck to each other since… ever, he figured it's only natural that he and Kenny should be like that, too. It never happened, though, and only in his mind Eric Cartman thought of Kenny as his best friend, but never treated him as such. It was like a nickname for him, rather than a part in a relationship. Just like Kyle is the Jew and Stan is the wuss, Kenny it – besides poor – his best friend.

It not like that it mattered to him, though. Cartman knew that the shaky relationships he has with his friends are his fault and his fault only. He doesn't like anyone or anything, aside from himself, food and money, of course.

But Cartman was bored, seeing that he failed to beat the Japanese mind in Playstation games and that Stan was busy making… something in the kitchen (and doing terribly at it, too, according to the amount of curses coming from that direction). Kenny said he'd be able to come only on Saturday, making the fat boy, or how he liked to call himself: big-boned, wonder what was so important that he could only arrive tomorrow. And so, Cartman decided that he should check on Kyle. He may never liked the guy, but there was something… odd about the way Stan and Kyle were acting, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it. To him, it felt like there was something… imperfect there. Not that the situation was positive, mind you, but even if in his wildest dreams or nightmares Cartman imagined such situation, then Stan would fawn over Kyle, and Kyle would be so broken he'd try to jump out of the window before the day was over. Yet, Stan may have been protective over his best friend, but Cartman could not call it fawning. Seeing that Kyle was delirious most of the time he was up, it was only natural that Stan would sit and not move from his bed until he was sure he was okay. And Kyle… Kyle was furious when Cartman had last seen him. Furious and sober.

He climbed the wooden stairs slowly, trying to be as silent as possible. Although, he figured, if Stan would find him going up, Cartman could just claim he needed to go to the bathroom. He approached Stan's room slowly, not sure what to expect. The door opened quietly, and Cartman was grateful it didn't squeak. Breathing a sigh of relief, he entered the room. The light was on, and the first thing Cartman noticed was the shaking lump on the bed. _Must be Kyle…_

Then he noticed the pill and the half-filled glass of water on the desk. He frowned. Had Stan forgot to give it to him? "Hey, Kyle," he said quite loud. The name sounded foreign coming out from his lips.

The lump on the bed ceased to shake, and Cartman looked on as small hands pulled the white covers down, and scared-green eyes were looking straight at him. "Where's Stan?" Kyle asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"He gave you a pill?" Cartman asked, not answering the Jew's question. Kyle was silent for a minute, and Cartman wasn't sure if he was even thinking, but then the red head shook his head shakily and mouthed the word 'no'. "He gave me one this morning," he corrected.

Cartman smirked. No wonder Kyle was acting the way he did, if his fever was still high. He handed Kyle the pill and the glass, and only after he yelled at him to take it did the Jew actually made a move to do so. He was still a bit shaken, even when five minutes passed since he took the pill. "What are you still standing here for?" Kyle asked quietly, his voice hoarse, not looking at Cartman.

Cartman chuckled and crossed his arms. "The fag's downstairs making you some food, I think, so I thought I should check on you."

Kyle frowned, still staring forward. "That's… nice of you."

Cartman shrugged. "Yeah, well, seeing what you've been through and all…" he saw Kyle tense, and he went silent.

"I'm gonna be sick…" Kyle mumbled, and before Cartman could stop him Kyle jumped from the bed, fell on the floor and stood up again shakily, wobbling towards the door and out.

"Hey! Where are you going?" Cartman called, but Kyle ignored him. He followed, not stopping him, and waited outside of the bathroom door until he heard the water flush. Kyle emerged a minute later, looking paler, if even possible, and somewhat dazed. "You okay?" Cartman asked, and before Kyle could reply they heard stomping from the stairs, and both teens turned their heads to look at Stan, slightly panting and leaning on the wall.

"What happened?" he asked, then his tone turned angry. "Kyle, why are you out of bed?"

Cartman laughed, noticing the apron Stan was wearing. "Stupid fag… even the apron you're wearing is pink!"

Stan blushed. "It's my mom's…" he mumbled.

"You're a guy!" Cartman argued. "You don't _need_ an apron! Then again… you're gay."

"Shut up, fatass," Stan hissed, glaring at his fat friend. He turned to Kyle again. "Why are you out of bed?"

"I- I was…" Kyle stuttered, looking around almost frantically. When Stan moved forward, Kyle backed away until the wall stopped him. "I-"

Cartman watched the exchange, confused. Kyle seemed almost scared of Stan. A thought occurred to him suddenly. In the many hours he'd been there never once did he see…"Stan," Cartman said, cutting Kyle off. "You gave him any food at all?" he asked.

Stan stopped and blinked. "I… well, I think…" he held his chin as he tried to remember.

"If you don't remember, that means no," Cartman said and stood in front of Kyle. Why he decided playing protector suddenly, he did not know. He's not denying anything when he says he truly doesn't care deeply for any of the two fags, and he's not denying the fact that if someone would come and offer him ten bucks if he would leave the two alone, he'd do so. Yet, Kyle seemed more scared of Stan than him, and that Cartman didn't like. Cartman was the 21st century's Hitler, not Stan. Something was wrong about the two: Stan wasn't fawning and Kyle was more scared than broken, and Cartman decided to take it upon himself to correct that situation.

"I was just making some soup," Stan said.

"That's not enough… go make him some orange juice, and find even the smallest thing you could give him to eat while the soup's on the stove," Cartman said, moving to stand beside Kyle and lean on the wall.

"But he might throw it up!" Stan argued.

"That's why I say to give him something small! Jeez, I never knew fags could be so _stupid_!"

"Goddamn it, Cartman! I'm not a fag!" Stan yelled, clenching his fist.

"Then why is Kyle scared of you?!" Stan went silent, unclenched his fist and bowed his head. "What happened between the two of you when you were in your room? You probably hurt him in some way, and there's only one way I can think about!" Stan looked away.

Kyle moved, barely managing to stand between the two if them. "He didn't really… do anything…"

"Why are you so scared, then?" Cartman asked, crossing his arms.

"It's just that…" now it was Kyle's turn to look away. "He touched someplace he shouldn't have, and it hurt."

Cartman cocked his eyebrow. "Too much information!" he exclaimed, almost laughing. When no other exchange was made, Cartman sent Stan downstairs to get something to eat and drink and helped Kyle back to the bed. Stan went without any argument this time, although Cartman was almost positive he heard him curse him. When he was sick his mother would always fawn over him, and he would feel like a king that needs to be served. He always felt like that, mind you, but when he was sick that feeling was more dominant. He knew how to treat a sick person, which was one of a very short list of things he could thank his mother for.

"Why are you doing this?" Kyle asked when he was tucked well under the white covers.

Cartman smirked. "Stan's worried, and that was the least I could do if I don't want to get kicked out of here." Kyle frowned. "But still, Jew," the frown deepened, and Cartman felt just slightly guilty. "He wants to know something. I'm kinda curious, too."

"What?" Kyle asked, sounding angry.

"Those people… have they done anything aside from beating you?"

Kyle was silent, but for once in his life, Cartman was patient. He watched as Kyle pulled up his sleeve and showed him the small swastikas on his arm. "I think I know what you mean," Kyle whispered, his head bowed. "The answer is no, then. I blacked out after they took my clothes off and left, and even if I would have collapsed before that, I doubt they would have done it. They hated me too much."

Cartman nodded. "I thought so, too," he said.

* * *

_He touched someplace he shouldn't have, He touched someplace he shouldn't have, He touched someplace he shouldn't have…_

Again and again the words replayed in his mind like a scratched CD, and he gritted his teeth against those thoughts.

_He even pushed you away…_

He shook his head, wanting to use all of his will and focus in the task of juice making. The soup was on the stove, and by the recipe, it should be ready in about two hours.

They had only two oranges left, which was perfect for the juice, and Stan even found a chocolate cake in the fridge. His suspicions had just become stronger, for if nothing of what he thought happened to Kyle, then he would have no reason to push him away. He returned the kiss, after all.

_He even told you the reason…_

Stan didn't like the fact that Cartman bossed him around, but he had to admit he was right. No wonder Kyle was so sick; not only had he prevented food from his mouth, but he had also forgot to give him a pill yet again. He sighed heavily, squeezing the orange harder. When he was satisfied with the amount of juice, he put the glass on a plastic tray and sliced a piece of cake.

He took the tray and slowly climbed up the stairs, trying his best not to drop or spill anything. When he came closer to the door of his room he heard the two talking, and he wondered what was it that they conversed about.

_Probably you._

"Ah, you finally came," Cartman said when he noticed him and moved aside to let him pass. He put his hand on his shoulder and lowered his head to whisper something in his ear, seeing how he was a bit taller than Stan. The perfect bully- big and fat, they all said. Even Cartman himself said so, only that he added that he's big-boned.

"You were mistaken, my dear fag," Cartman whispered. "I just asked him. He said he blacked out after they left. They did nothing more then beating him up." Stan's eyes widened, and Cartman left his shoulder and the room.

Kyle cocked his head to the side. "What did he say?" he asked.

"Nothing important," Stan said quickly and gave Kyle the tray. "I… need to go and check on the soup," then he hurried out and closed the door behind him, leaving a confused Kyle in his room.

When he was out his vision blurred, and he fell to his knees, sobbing.

Oh, thank you God for making it so that humans could be wrong…

_  
To Be Continued…_


	7. Saturday Morning

**Disclaimer: **For the… seventh time- South Park is not mine!

**Author's Note: **Again, my thanks go to all those who reviewed! Keep it coming!! :D

And don't tell me I don't have grammar mistakes! I know they're there, admit it!!! Anyhow, sorry if I have any…

Enjoy :)

**Four Days**

Saturday Morning: Of Friday Nights and Jewish Mothers

He was confused. Cartman was being nice to him, if you could really call it that, and Stan acted like… he didn't want to be around him so much. Kyle thought it was weird; after all, the black-haired boy had been all over him a few hours ago. He had come back in earlier, holding a bowl of soup in his hands and giving it to him, leaving immediately after. The soup tasted weird, but Kyle ate it, nonetheless. For a first try in cooking, and soup no less, Stan did quite well.

Kyle smiled softly. He remembered that during those cold Friday nights, when no one dared to step out, he would sneak into the kitchen and watch his mother lean over pots and slaughter vegetables, and he would approach her, slowly so not to anger her, and ask to help. She would turn to look at him, shock written on her features, and then she would frown and tell him that if he has so much free time at his hands, he should use it to study. And then, as Kyle would turn around and return to the living room he would hear her complain yet again that she has no daughters, who could help her out.

It's not that he wanted to help her for the sake of helping her, he simply got sick of her continuous complaints. He knew that in two or three years he would go away to college, and by no means did he plan to live on junk food. He wanted to learn how to cook, but she never gave him the chance. "Go study!" she would yell, and he would bow his head and leave, promising to himself that he would never ask to help her out again, only to find himself in the same position the following week. He never understood what she wanted from him; his grades were good, he was almost the first in class.

He confronted her about it sometime last year, when she forbade him from going out and hang out with his friends because it was a school-night.

"But I scored an A in my last Math exam!" he remembered yelling, clenching his fists, agreeing for the who-knows-what time with the song Cartman made up when they were younger, which he had already forgotten the words of.

"A is not enough!" she yelled back. "You should aim for an A!" then her voice would go softer, and whilst in the past she would crouch so she could look at him in the eye level, he was now just slightly taller than her, and instead of crouching she put her hand on his shoulder. "You can do it," she said, reassuring. "Then you could be a doctor or a lawyer for sure," then she smiled and left him. He would fume and march upstairs, locking the door to his room, and he would take out the exam from his bag and tear it apart.

He didn't want to be a doctor nor a lawyer- _she _was the one, who wanted it the most. He wanted… he didn't know what he wanted, but it sure didn't involve spending years between the pages of a study book as long as the Bible itself.

"You know, Gerald," she would then start at dinner, leaning forward on her chair so she could look at her husband from closer. "Kyle scored an A in Math today."

"That's great!" his father would reply. "Can you show me that exam later?"

And Kyle would tense and swallow hard. "I-" he would stutter and then shake his head to clear his thoughts, "-gave is to Stan so he could study for his exam next week."

"Oh," his father said, sounding disappointed. "Show it to me next week then." Luckily for Kyle, by the time the next week rolled around, his father would forget about the pieces of paper in his trash can.

Kyle took another sip of Stan's soup, deciding that it's not as bad as he thought it when he first tasted it, but it still fell from his mother's chicken soup. She may have been quite a bitch at times, but still, her cooking was delicious.

He was about to take another sip when he stopped, his eyes wide. His mother… it's not like he could stay at Stan's forever! He'd have to go back to his own house on Sunday, and he may wear long-sleeved shirt and long pants, but as soon as his mother would do as much as touch him in the wrong place, he would cringe and she would become suspicious. And he'd have to tell her, for even if he chooses not to she'd find out about it anyway, and then either she would fuss over him and hunt those men down, or either she would blame him for it because he was walking out so late. Yet, even if she would choose to do the latter, she'd _still_ fuss over him and hunt those men down, and God knows what more.

Kyle didn't want that to happen, not at all. He feared that if she would succeed at hunting them down, then they would come back for revenge and he would get away, if at all, with more than bruises and a broken soul.

He put the spoon down and put the bowl on the drawer next to the bed, suddenly not as hungry as before. "Shit…" he mumbled to himself, putting his head between his hands. "Shit."

Stan never came back that night.

* * *

He found it quite odd that even when he was worried about something and thought of it the entire day, when he went to sleep he would simply think of other things, and the thing he worried about would still be there, of course, but he would not think of it. That was a good thing, he decided; he's able to sleep well even when worrying. It was when he was excited that sleep deprived from him. 

Friday night proved to be quite problematic. He was worried about Kyle, and for a reason unknown to him, he felt... excited. Was it because of his latest discovery? He doubted it. A thing like that should not make him excited, but relieved. It wasn't the fact that Kyle was feeling better, either. He should feel happy about it, not excited.

Surely he's not excited over nothing, is he? There must be a reason…

He rolled to his side, shutting his eyes and willing for sleep to come. When he was excited he'd feel a weird energy coursing through his veins like blood, and he couldn't sit still. He changed positions ten times in five minutes.

Eventually, he gave up and lay awake, staring at his ceiling through the darkness. The skies were clouded, so even though there was supposed a full moon that night, it didn't bless South Park with its light, and Stanley Marsh had to settle for the light from the street lamp.

He replayed today's - which at some point became yesterday's – events in his mind, trying to figure out what was it that made his heart beat faster than it should and metaphorical butterflies to flap their wings in his stomach.

Cartman was the one to find him by the door, weeping. He just couldn't stop himself from doing so.

"Hey, fag," he said, and Stan was sure he had been smirking. "Thought you'd be happy." Stan could not reply, he just kept on crying. Through his blurred vision he saw Cartman doubling over in laughter. "God, Stan! You are _such a fag!_" he said, and Stan didn't even have the strength to deny it. When he finally clamed down after about fifteen minutes he sent Cartman to sleep on the couch in the living room and then went to his parents' room to sleep. He was exhausted and he figured sleep would come fast, but he was mistaken, and he found himself in the current position.

So why was he so excited?

_He wasn't raped. That was not the reason he pushed you away._

Stan's eyes went wide, and he felt like hundreds of more butterflies invaded his stomach. On a second thought, though, what _was _the reason he was pushed away?

_Maybe you _did_ touch where you shouldn't have. You know he's bruised all over._

Stan gulped. If he didn't do anything that wrong then maybe… he still had a chance. And when he realized that that was the reason he was so excited, the number of metaphorical butterflies in his stomach doubled again, and he blushed.

No way he'd be able to sleep after _that_.

He opened his eyes slowly, his vision blurred. He blinked a few times until everything came into focus, and then he glanced at the digital clock on his father's drawer. He groaned when he noticed it was already past noon. He yawned and stretched, blinking a few more times to make the tiredness go away. He probably _did _fall asleep eventually, and quite late if you consider the time in which he woke up. He picked up the clothes he tossed on the floor the previous night and changed quickly, straightening his hair with his hand until it looked normal enough in his eyes and then leaving the room, heading for the kitchen.

He was a bit taken aback at the scene before him: Cartman was eating a sandwich, which Kenny, who probably got there not long ago, tried to snatch, only to get his hand slapped by Cartman, and Kyle was sitting there too, laughing at the scene.

"Morning, fag," Cartman greeted as he noticed him, and slapped Kenny's arm again.

"Stupid fatass," Kenny mumbled. He stopped wearing that orange parka a few years back, and got himself a job so he could buy whatever he wished. His words were now clear, and his friends found that he could be really profound at times. Cartman stuck his tongue out at the poor boy.

Stan merely glared at Cartman, not feeling like replying. Sure, he admitted to himself that he's probably a fag, but there was not a reason that Cartman should know it. "Kyle," he said, "What are you doing down here?"

"Oh, I feel better… I thought I could get something to eat," he replied, smiling. Stan smiled back, finding it impossible not to. It felt good to see Kyle better, after the hectic Friday.

"How was the soup?" Stan asked, and Kyle cringed. Stan frowned. "Didn't you like it?"

"It was… good…" Kyle said, looking sideways. Stan frown deepened, but he let it go.

"Kenny here ate the rest," Cartman said, pointing at Kenny.

Kenny grinned. "It was great, Stan! Best soup I ever ate!" he exclaimed, and Stan smiled. Kenny would think that last week's milk is tasty, but still, it felt good to be complimented.

Stan went over to the counter and grabbed a plastic bowl, filling it with cereal. After filling it with milk and grabbing a spoon he joined his friends at the table.

"My mom says that if I wake up after eleven then I shouldn't eat breakfast, so I could leave room in my stomach for lunch," Cartman said, his voice high. Stan always found it annoying that his voice barely changed, compared to the rest of them.

"My mom isn't," Kenny said, eyeing Stan's bowl.

"That's because you're poor, Kenny. You don't eat lunch," Cartman said, taking another bite of his sandwich. Kenny scowled.

"You want something, Kenny?" Stan asked, lifting his gaze from the doughnut-like cereal swimming in a pool of milk. "You can get whatever you like," he said and resumed eating.

"No thanks, I'm not hungry," he said.

"But you were trying to take Cartman's food."

"I only did that to annoy him," Kenny smirked. "I had breakfast at McDonald's."

"Oh," was all Stan could say. He was glad, really, that Kenny had now his own money and he could fill his stomach with goods.

Kenny McKormick had been failing almost all of his subjects thorough elementary school, and then they entered junior high. When Kenny found out he'd been placed in the lowest groups for almost anything, he decided to get a grip. "I am not going to end up a drunk fool like my father," he told Stan back then. And indeed, Kenny improved his grades. He was a bright kid- he was just lazy. When they entered high school he got himself a job at a fast food restaurant, and earned his own money. He didn't share it with his family, though, claiming that they don't deserve it. "If they want it so much, they should get a job themselves," he used to say.

Silence followed.

"Stan?" Kyle whispered, looking at the tiled floor.

"Mm?"

"Can I… talk to you for a minute?"

Stan gulped down the remaining milk and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Sure," he said and stood up, walking out of the kitchen with Kyle.

"Isn't that cute, Kenny?" Cartman asked. "The two fags are going to be alone."

Stan gave him the finger before he disappeared from view.

-------- (A/N: should have been a double-line break but decided that shiftenter should not work for this line....)

"So," Stan started, sitting on the edge of his bed. "What's on your mind?" he knew he was blushing. He'd been hoping that maybe Kyle would tell him what he wanted him to tell him since… well, since yesterday. Kyle would say it and Stan would smile and welcome him into his arms and kiss him, careful so not to hurt him again.

But… wasn't the fact that he kissed him back proof enough?

Stan was sure of it, but if Kyle was about to confess his deepest and most secret feelings, then Stan would let him finish. He licked his lips in anticipation.

"I've been thinking…" the Jew started.

_Here it comes!_

"I'm going to stay here until Sunday-"

_Here it comes!_

"But what am I going to do when I come back home?" he finished.

Stan felt numb, like his stomach became ten times heavier. "W-what do you mean?" he managed to stutter.

"My mom," Kyle elaborated. "What is she going to say?" he then turned away, and Stan could have sworn he saw tears in the corners of his eyes.

Okay, so maybe he wasn't ready to confess.

And then the full force of what his best friend had said hit him. "Your mother…" Stan said quietly, and Kyle nodded. "Fuck," Stan finished.

_  
To Be Continued…_


	8. Saturday Afternoon

**Author's Note: **just wanted to say that I use "Cartman" instead of "Eric" because I think the story flows better this way (only Butters calls him Eric, no?). And… sorry for spelling or grammar mistakes.

* * *

**Four Days**

Saturday Afternoon: Hate is…

"If I told somebody I hate someone," Cartman told him once, "they would say that I speak nonsense, because I can't possibly know what hate is. Of course I know what hate is! They only say that I don't because I'm young… hate is to look at someone's face and wish for their death, hate is to feel your inside burning, and not being able to say the name of the person you hate without a flood of curses following."

_Is that what Kyle feels now? _Kenny wondered. _Is that what they felt when they attacked him? _

They were sitting on the couch in Stan's house, Cartman holding the remote and changing channels, and Kenny biting on a sandwich. "So basically," Cartman said, frowning as he settled on MTV and Britney Spears in minimal clothing dancing on the screen, "Kyle was delirious and scared only because Stan forgot to give him a pill. Heh, they should be kissing my feet! I practically saved the day… they owe me one."

Cartman was something else alright, Kenny decided. On the rare occasion he actually did something _nice _for someone, he would make himself look like an asshole immediately after, and Kenny wondered if his ego will get him into trouble because of that sometime in the future.

"Why are we here, Cartman?" Kenny asked, looking down at the cheese in his sandwich. "Don't you think it will be better for them if we just left?"

Cartman laughed a laugh that Kenny always found somewhat disturbing. "Like hell I'm leaving! This is too good… don't you see, Kenny?" he asked. "The two fags are finally getting together! This is pure gold…"

Kenny frowned. He never liked the fact that Cartman was using other people's sufferings for his own good, instead of using that brain he had for something better, like actually studying for once. "I really think we should leave," he said, taking a bite.

Cartman looked at him incredulously. "Why?" he demanded. "We're not disturbing their private time. Besides, I saved Kyle's sorry ass, I have the right to stay here!"

Kenny shook his head, smiling softly. "Stan saved his ass, you just helped to bring Kyle back to his feet."

"I hate you, Kenny," Cartman said and Kenny laughed.

"Look, I just think that… if you're so sure they're gay you can always laugh at them about it at school, but not now, when Kyle's like this. Don't you think he's suffering enough as it is?"

Cartman snorted. "The stupid Jew had it coming…"

"Stop being such an asshole, Cartman!" Cartman merely grunted in response, and Kenny sighed heavily.

"Don't tell me you're a fag too, Kenny."

Kenny chuckled. "You know as well as I do that I don't care who it is as long as I get it."

"You're a whore, Kenny, you know that?" the blond merely laughed in response.

**oOo**

He loved that look. It may sound somewhat twisted, but Kyle looked so… beautiful with those tears at the corners of his eyes. Then he wiped them away with his sleeve but didn't bring his arm down. Stan cocked his head to the right, wondering what was wrong, and then he noticed that Kyle's shoulders were shaking. He was crying.

"I-I'm sure it would all turn out okay!" Stan said in an attempt to cheer him up. He didn't know what he should say, though.

"How can you be so sure?!" Kyle yelled, turning to face him. He clenched his fists and then bowed his head. "She would hunt them down, and then they'll come back to take revenge on me…"

Stan blinked. "You're paranoid…"

"And what's wrong with that?!" Kyle yelled, glaring at him with his tearful eyes. He was still wearing that pajama Stan gave him the other day, it never left his body. Kyle gritted his teeth and unbuttoned the shirt, causing Stan to blush (although it went unnoticed by Kyle), and then he pulled the two ends of the shirt aside, revealing his scarred chest to his best friend. "Look, Stan!" he yelled, and Stan felt so lost, hearing that sorrow in his voice. "This is what hate causes! This is what they did to me, and God knows to whom else, now and in the future! My mom would see that, and she'd be furious! And after she would yell at me for being out so late, thus bringing it on myself, she would hunt them down!"

"Yes, Kyle!" Stan said, exasperated. "And if she would find them they'll go to prison for what they did to you!"

"And when they'll get out?! Then what?! Huh, Stan?! I'll tell you what! They'll hate me even more, that's what! And this time they would make sure I'm dead…" His voice became quiet, and he looked away. "Hate and love are both the same, Stan. Both are strong feelings, taking control over the mind and body, and sometimes over our actions. The only difference is that whilst you hate someone, you can't stand to look at them, yet whilst you love them, you never get enough of them."

"-they hate me, Stan. They loathe me without even knowing me. Just being a Jew was enough of a reason for them to do this to me! You see what hate causes, Stan? Do you see? So _don't _blame me for being paranoid! Look at the world around you, Stan! Get out of that goddamned shell you call South Park and see the world! The world is flooded with hate, and when you hate so much, you can't trust, and when you can't trust, then you become paranoid! All around the world people are hurting my people for their religion, and not just my people! They hurt others, too! Because people see themselves as superior! People are preaching for peace, and at the same time they cause war! You see what the world has become, Stan? Do you see what hate causes?!"

Stan found it somewhat odd that while Kyle seemed to blame his Judaism for what happened to him, he was still referring to Jews as "his people". "Stop that!" Stan yelled, standing up. He wasn't able to take this much longer. He approached his friend, his eyes sad, and then he put his hands on the other's boy's shoulders. "You don't _need_ to know those things, Kyle! No teenager should be involved with the morbidities of the world! Let those in power decide, let those in power do what they do best! You shouldn't worry over those things! Worry about yourself!"

Kyle's eyes narrowed in anger, and he removed his best friend's hands from his shoulders violently. "And you wonder why it continues…" he whispered. He turned around and was about to leave the room, but Stan was not about to let this chance slip from between his fingers. He hurried forward, slamming the door that Kyle managed to open just a crack shut. Kyle turned to face him, anger written over his young features. "What are you doing?" the Jew demanded.

"Don't bother yourself with the morbidities of the world…" Stan repeated, caressing his friend's cheek. "You have enough to worry as it is." He inched his face closer. "Let us live, Kyle," he whispered. "Let us live." And in a slow movement he closed the distance between them, forcing his lips of his Kyle's.

* * *

Time stood still as he felt his best friend kissing him, and he felt tears coming to his eyes. He refused to cry this time, though. Instead, he released a dry sob, and Stan deepened the kiss. He was leading them towards the bed, slowly but surely, and then he pulled away and pushed Kyle unto the covers, wasting no time in joining. 

Kyle slowly felt himself falling under the spell of love, but his eyes refused to close. Instead, he looked out of the window, giving Stan the privilege to do as he wished.

He could hear Stan breathing hard as he kissed him, felt his arms around his thin body holding him close, yet he refused to look. He watched the snow fall softly to the ground, losing himself in the frozen water descending from the sky.

He loved watching things fall from the sky; whether it was the rain, snow, or leaves in the autumn. He hated the summer. In the summer, South Park just felt… different, with the grass and the heat. In the summer life was boring, with no exams and homework to stress on and with endless boredom. In the summer, nothing was falling.

Nothing but himself.

While his friends could sleep in most of the days, he had to wake up early and go to the synagogue. His mother decided the sitting around the house wasn't doing any good to him, and that he should use that free time to study. When he said that it's summer and that he has nothing to study for, she sent him to learn Torah and Hebrew. "You're Jewish, Kyle," she said. "You should know these things. Every Jewish boy should know them!"

And so, almost every day he went there to listen to the Rabbi preach about things he could care less about, and to learn a new language that was so weird and complicated. He loathed it. It only reminded him how different he was, how no matter what he does, his mother would never be satisfied and tell him to do more. He saw his friends less, they barely met over the summer, and when they came back to school it seemed to him that Cartman's taunts became more frequent and more spiteful.

His mother repeated this order every summer, and every summer since his first year of junior high he went to study. In the autumn leaves were falling, in the winter snow, in the spring the rain was occasionally pouring, and in the summer, when it was hot and bright, _he_ was falling.

Further and further to the depths of his religion and family.

He felt Stan's hold on him tighten, and then the raven haired boy moved to kiss his exposed and wounded chest. Absentmindedly Kyle lifted his hand and put it on his friend's head, playing with his black hair as he kissed him. His body was there, yet his mind was somewhere else.

It was the second time Stan was kissing him, and for the second time he thought about the dark and depressing while love was engulfing him.

What was that new sensation between his legs?

A moan emitted from his lips, but it went unheard to his ears as he kept on gazing outside.

As Stan went on with that onslaught on his body, Kyle's mind kept on wandering. His moans became louder, his breathing quick, and the he couldn't take it any longer. "Let us live, Kyle," he heard Stan whisper seconds after his mind became empty of all thought. "Let us live."

The earlier privilege was now in his own body, and he allowed sleep to do as it wished and take over him. He went silent, his dreams filled with the various seasons of the year.

And then summer came, and then he was screaming.

* * *

_  
To Be Continued…_

**Author's Note: **I swear I didn't plan for them to have sex so early, but… things happen. Don't tell me you didn't like it ;)

I am sorry for writing about Judaism all the time, but as a Jew, I feel almost… obligated to include it. That's why I love Kyle the best :)

Final in History soon, expect new chapter after the 20th. Maybe earlier, we'll see…

Please review!


	9. Into Saturday Evening

**Author's Note: **I read my first (I think) hardcore yaoi!

God, Japanese are twisted… and even when I found one with a nice plot, it annoyed me that it was still made fro the porn ;

Sorry for spelling or grammar mistakes! (There were so many in the first chappie! How did this come to be??!?!??!)

* * *

**Four Days**

Into Saturday Evening: The Swastikas Are Bleeding

Stan smiled as he watched his love's eyes drooping slowly until he drifted off to sleep. He felt a bit sorry, though, that he fell asleep before he could… return the favor. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, still not quite believing his latest actions, and then he planted a small kiss on Kyle's forehead, caressing his red hair. "I love you, you know that?" he whispered, but Kyle's response was to turn his head to the side. Stan's smile wavered, and he sighed. Kyle was yet to prove that he feels the same way about him. He was too passive for Stan's liking. It's not that he didn't enjoy being the active one, but he needed some proof, something that would make him want to keep going. Yet Kyle was silent and distant, and to Stan, it seemed more like he was protecting his love rather than really loving him. He protected him when he hugged him after he found him in the snow, he protected him when he gave him a pill for the first time, he protected him when he slapped Cartman, and even now he was protecting him, showering him with love in order to show him that not all was full of hate.

Could he protect him now, from his mother?

He knew that Sheila Broflovski would not rest until the criminals will be brought to justice. Stan wasn't against it, of course, but Sheila was taking the hard way at the things she was doing and she always did something drastic. She could get all the police and army forces to hunt those Jew haters down if she really wanted to, and even though Stan knew that if he would ever meet one of those people he'd make them suffer, he still didn't want Kyle's mother to interfere too much.

Will they ever find those criminals at all? They weren't from South Park, probably. They could have been tourists for all they know… and if they were tourists indeed, then chances of finding them are good as none.

What would Sheila do?

A memory came to his mind. Two years ago they were watching a porn tape which Kenny brought in Kyle's house. His parents came home from the movies earlier than expected and chaos broke loose. Stan had been grounded for a week, after Sheila told about this to his mother, Kenny and Cartman got away from punishment (Kenny because his parents could care less, and Cartman because his mother gave him anything he wanted), and Kyle was grounded for two months, if he remembers correctly.

Stan knew that she loved her son, and he also knew that Kyle loved her, even if she was hard on him. She was trying to protect her son, and he was scared to imagine what would happen when she will find out that she failed that mission.

Stan sighed and got off of the bed. He glanced at Kyle one last time; smiling as he saw him sleeping calmly, and then he stepped out, quiet so not to wake him up.

If he would have stayed a bit longer, he would have noticed Kyle's face twitching suddenly, and he would have heard the quiet pleas for help, and he would have seen his hand suddenly jerking to the side, searching for his own, and when it would not find it, it would hold the blanket until Kyle's knuckles would become white, and then he would scream.

"What are you grinning so wide about, faggot?" Cartman asked as Stan came into view. He took a sip of the coke he was drinking, and his eyes shone with sudden mischief. "You finally fucked?" he asked. Kenny kicked his leg.

"Don't mind him, Stan." He said, eyeing the fatter boy. "He's just pissed 'cuz he _never _got it."

"Ey!" Cartman yelled, glaring at Kenny, but said no more. Kenny chuckled.

Stan's smile did not disappear, though. It didn't even waver, which caused Cartman to cock his eyebrow in wonder. "I was right, then?" he asked, and when silence answered, he burst out laughing. "I can't believe it! I was right! I should have bet with you, Kenny!"

Kenny rolled his eyes at the typical Cartmanish behavior. "And I repeat: don't mind him." Stan sat next to them on the couch, still grinning with his eyes glazed somewhat. "So," Kenny started, mischief now shining in his own eyes. "How was it?"

Stan sighed. "It's great…" he said quietly.

Kenny blinked, not quite understanding. "What is?"

"Being inlove," the black haired boy replied, and Cartman laughed harder.

After his laughter had died down somewhat, Cartman found his voice again, wiping his eyes. "And where's Kyle?"

Stan frowned. "Upstairs, sleeping."

"What a wimp!" Cartman exclaimed. "He's such a Jew!"

Now Stan kicked his leg. "I swear it, Cartman," he threatened, "don't ever make fun of Kyle being Jewish when he's in hearing range, or I will personally make sure you won't be able to speak _ever _again! You saw what this hate causes with _your own eyes!_"

"Tsk, Touchy," Cartman said, taking another sip. "Don't worry, Jew boy knows I'm joking."

"Don't even joke-" Stan was cut off by a scream from upstairs and his eyes went wide. "Kyle," he said quietly, his voice suddenly unable to reach louder notes. He quickly got off the couch and ran upstairs. Cartman was about to follow, but Kenny held up his hand.

"Don't," he said.

Cartman eyed him. "But this is getting good!" he yelled, pouting.

"Let him be. Something tells me you shouldn't interfere."

"I don't give a fuck, Kenny," Cartman said and began his short journey upstairs. Kenny sighed heavily and followed, not wanting his fat friend to ruin anything.

"And I thought you didn't want me to go," Cartman said when noticing his follower.

"I don't," Kenny replied, "but I'm not going to let you ruin anything."

"Fag."

"Fatass."

* * *

_The sun was shaped as a swastika and it burned his skin as he walked down the street, ignoring the bystanders who were eyeing him and whispering to each other_ _things he could clearly make out. A necklace with a stone shaped as a Star of David was around his neck and it weighed him down. The bystanders disappeared suddenly and he found himself alone, crawling on the sidewalk, feeling weak. He stopped to take a breath, and swastikas appeared on his body, bleeding. He gasped and looked up, seeing his mother in front of him with an angry expression on her face. _

_"It's your fault, Kyle," she said, "you never should have stayed out so late!"_

_He shook his head, wanting to tell her that none of his was his fault, that he tried to ignore them, but no voice came out. He threw his hand to his mouth _

_She smiled, and in his eyes she looked like a demon watching his pray. "Go study, Kyle," she said. "Then you'd be able to be a lawyer like you dad!" She crouched down and put her hand on his head. He tried to get away, but he was frozen in place. Her smile widened. "What?" she asked, he voice quiet. "You had sex with Stan?"_

_The wounds bled harder._

_"You know that the Bible forbids that, don't you Kyle?" she stood up, and she looked bigger and higher. "Or haven't you studied enough?"_

_In a flash his surroundings changed and his found himself between the pages of the Bible, Hebrew words mixed with English ones. His breathing came out in short gasps, and he looked around frantically._

_"A Jew _and _a_ _gay," a voice said, and he turned around and faced the three drunken men._

_He shook his head. "No," he squeaked, "it wasn't me!"_

_The man smiled wickedly. "Or was it?" He lifted his hand to hit him…_

Kyle awoke with a start, a whimper escaping his lips. Someone was shaking his shoulders and calling his name, sounding hysteric.

Why was he so unfocused? Why was everything blurry?

"Kyle!" someone was yelling, and the Jew found himself looking into Stan's worried eyes. "Are you okay, dude? You had a nightmare… you were screaming…"

His voice sounded so… scared and worried. Kyle, though, still couldn't find his own voice. "It was all a dream," Stan said, his voice now quiet. He smiled, and caressed Kyle's cheek gently. "You're alright now…"

He kissed his forehead.

_It's all your fault, Kyle…_

Stan kissed the tear that rolled silently down his cheek

_What? You had sex with Stan?_

He moved to the mouth.

_A Jew _and _a_ _gay!_

Then moved to the neck.

_The swastikas are bleeding…_

He was touching Kyle's still exposed chest.

_The swastikas are bleeding!!!_

Moving down to the stomach…

_Let us show you what we do to Jews, who lie…_

Holding him tight…

_Punch, kick, slap!_

Breathing hard…

_The swastikas are bleeding!!!!!!!!!!!!_

"N-no…" came the almost inaudible whisper, and when Kyle saw that Stan refused to leave him, he shut his eyes and pushed him away, folding his knees up immediately after. "Don't touch me!" he screamed.

The Other boy was now sitting at the other end of the bed, looking at him through wide eyes. "B-but, Kyle-" he started, speaking quietly.

Stan tried to touch Kyle again, but the Jew slapped his hand away. "Don't ever touch me again…" he hissed. He buttoned his pajama shirt quickly and got off the bed, going for the door. Stan regained his composure quickly, got off of the bed as well, and blocked the way.

"What happened?" Stan asked, worry apparent in his voice.

Kyle didn't reply. Instead, he pushed Stan out of the room and closed the door, locking it.

"Kyle!" Stan shouted, pounding on the door with his fist. "This is my house, you know! Open the damn door!"

"Aw, isn't that sad, Kenny? The fag was dumped!" Cartman mocked.

"Shut up, fatass!" Stan yelled, still pounding. "Kyle! Open up!"

"Relax, Stan," Kenny said. "Give me a pin and I'll get it open." Stan looked at him for a minute, not quite getting it, but nonetheless, he went to his parents' room and came back with a small pin. Kenny smiled and took it.

He fiddled with the lock for a minute, and when they heard the click Stan pushed the door open and got inside.

He looked around frantically, and slowly the realization sunk in. Stan bowed his head in shame, tears springing to his eyes. "It's my fault…" he whispered, clenching his fist. "It's all my fault!"

The room was empty.

_  
To Be Continued…_


	10. Saturday Evening

**Author's Note: **For the first time in my life I got over 100 reviews, and for that I thank you!!!!!!!

Here's chapter 10- enjoy!

And, of course, sorry for spelling or grammar mistakes, English is not my native language.

* * *

**Four Days**

Saturday Evening: The Eternal Marks

He has always been the most perverted one of their group, as well as the poorest one. Watching Stan and Kyle… he couldn't say he didn't enjoy it, but it felt somewhat wrong. Aside from the fact that two of his best friends were making out on the bed, it seemed to him, from the crack he and Cartman opened, that Stan was forcing himself on Kyle. To him, it felt like Stan was _making _Kyle love him, and poor Kyle seemed clueless, lost, even. At some point or another, he even seemed scared. It came as a surprise to the both of them when Kyle pushed Stan away from him, and then out of the room.

When Kenny used the skills he purchased over the years and unlocked the door with a pin, the room was empty. Kyle probably climbed down from the window and ran away. Stan was on his knees, sobbing, and Cartman was leaning on the wall, not sure what to do.

Kenny rubbed his forehead, thinking. "He probably didn't go far, with his fever and all…" he said. "We should go look for him."

"How?" Cartman asked, cocking an eyebrow at him. Stan's crying was still heard in the background. "I'm not going outside in this weather!"

"Speaking of which," Kenny started again, "He barely had clothes on himself. We should hurry and look for him!"

"And I repeat," Cartman said. "How?"

"With your car, dumbass!" Cartman was taken aback by this.

"Ey! I'm not going out with my car to look for the Jew!" he argued.

"You want him to freeze to death then?!" Cartman opened his mouth to say something in return, his face flushed, but he closed it and looked away, saying nothing. "Good," Kenny said. He never really liked to take control of things- it usually were Stan and Kyle, but now Stan was a wreck, and Kyle was… somewhere, and something had to be done. "Stan," the blond said, crouching. Stan wiped his eyes and sniffed, looking into Kenny's eyes through his glossy ones. "Listen," Kenny said, holding Stan's shoulders gently. "Pull yourself together, Stan. We're going out there to look for him. He probably is still close."

Stan nodded quickly, emitting one last sob. He stood up and wiped his eyes one last time. "Let's go," he said with a quivering voice.

Cartman huffed in the corner of the room. "Damn Jew, always getting himself into trouble…" Kenny and Stan glared at him before walking out.

**oOo**

It was getting dark, and every shadow of every thing became bigger. The darkness loomed over the running figure, threatening.

Kyle ran as fast as he could, which wasn't that fast, considering the fact that he was still sick. He was gasping for air after only minutes of running, and his feet were numb, which was expected since he had no shoes on. The wind was cold, and it bit at his pale skin and ruffled his red hair.

He fell, the snow making his body wet and freezing. He stayed on the ground, breathing hard. He tried to get up again with all his might, but could not do it. Frustrated, he clutched some snow, gritting his teeth. "Damn it…" he muttered, feeling tears choking his throat.

"Say, isn't that-" Kyle turned his head to look at two ladies standing across the street, staring at him. "-The Broflovskis' son?"

Kyle's eyes went wide.

_Broflovski__...You're a Jew?!_

With strength he didn't know he had left, he screamed and got up, running like the wind towards an unknown place.

They were after him, all of them, staring and whispering, plotting to bring him down. He looked down at his arm, and noticed that the swastikas were now in a shade of pale blue. His screams came louder as he kept on running, as if he hoped to run away from the marks on his body although knowing he would not be able to do it.

As his breathing came harder, and as his feet became number, he saw the faces of the men, who hit him on every tree, in every window, lurking in every alley, waiting for a chance to attack.

Eventually, he surrendered to the cold and numbness and fell down. Through his suddenly blurred vision he noticed that he was still in the limits of the town. No one but himself was outside, seeing how cold it was, and the darkness took over the sky completely. It was just like… that time, on Thursday.

He could feel his brain hurting, and what little food he had in his stomach making its way up. He felt weak and exhausted, all human strength deprived from him and what left are the emotions and thoughts, running wild in his heart and mind.

His best friend was inlove with him, he could tell that much, just not why. He was dirty, he was marked, he was… a Jew, worthless, a young man that people all over the world are wishing to hunt down and kill. He gritted his teeth against the cold and the tears springing to his tired eyes. He wanted to run away from everything, run far far away to a place that nobody but himself will know of.

Kyle craved for Stan's love and kisses, he craved for his protecting arms, but if he were to get involved with him, then he would be in danger. For if they would find him again, they would see in his eyes what he'd done earlier today, and they would smirk and hit him for it. Stan would not find him this time, though, He would wake up on his own, naked, and crawl all the way back to Stan's house, weeping and pleading for help. But Stan wouldn't want him this time: he would look at his crouching figure from above, his lips would curve into an evil smile, and he would reject him. No one would want a hated person like him.

Kyle's eyes tiredly gazed at the now blue swastikas on his body and his tears flowed. This is the eternal evidence that he'd been marked.

He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. On the one hand, he wanted and craved for Stan's love, but on the other hand, he was afraid to receive it. He was afraid that if he will, he would find himself alone and bleeding, rejected from the world.

How did he become like this? He was always happy and full of energy, and look at him now… afraid and paranoid, lying on the cold ground and waiting for… something. Death, maybe? Did he want to die?

Maybe he did; that way, everyone would be happy. Stan wouldn't have to bear with him, his mother would finally be pleased, and all would be… just… great.

He was wailing now, hiding his face in the snow, letting it soak his clothes and skin. He was shaking, both from the crying and the cold.

"Look! Over there!" He turned his head tiredly in the direction of the vaguely familiar voice, and his eyes went wide. Three men were coming his way, and he felt like he knew them. Can it be that-

"It's the Jew!" another one said, and Kyle panicked. He tried to get up, but his entire body felt numb. He was crying and screaming at the same time, thrashing about wildly.

"He's trying to get away!" someone screamed, and he heard six pairs of legs running his way. He screamed louder and shut his eyes, trying to focus his energy in getting up, without much success.

"Grab him!" Kyle kicked and punched, not seeing and not caring where. As long as he hit someone, it was good.

"Ouch! He kicked me!" Success.

"Come one, grab his legs!" someone was pinning him down. Failure.

"I don't think he recognizes us…"

"It doesn't matter! Come on, help us here!"

"You're not getting away this time," someone hissed, straining his voice. Kyle felt pleased with himself that he gave them a hard time; this time he won't let them get him…

"Get away from me! I didn't do anything!" he yelled as someone grabbed his arms violently.

"Goddamnit, he's strong!" they struggled to keep him down, he knew it. In that case, he still had a chance… but he was getting weaker.

"Stupid Jew!" their hold on him tightened, and he felt himself weakening, losing… surrendering.

"Please, no!" he yelled, sobbing. "I've had enough! It's not my fault! He did all the work, I didn't want him to kiss me!"

"What?"

"Fag…"

"I was born like this!" he tried again. "Blame my mother! Don't hurt me, please!"

"I think he's delirious…"

"Well, it sure isn't helping us! Stop standing there and come and help us!!"

"I have an idea…" was he imagining the scheming in his voice?

"No! Don't!"

Someone kicked him in the stomach, and he coughed violently. He felt the weight being removed from his legs.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!"

"Isn't this what you wanted?!"

"Yes, but not like this!"

"In which way then?!"

"Hold him down, first! He's getting weaker!"

"Holding him down might work if _he_ will move from the wall, but he isn't!"

"Come and help us!"

"But I-"

"No buts! You want it as much as we do, if not more! Enough with the excuses!"

"I didn't see you had problems with holding him before…"

Silence followed, and Kyle did not know what to think, when suddenly the weight that was removed before returned with extra weight on his back. He screamed at the top on his lungs, but his struggles became futile.

"Quick, before someone sees us!" he was being lifted from the cold ground, yet even though the snow was no longer a problem, he felt so very colder. His tears came faster and his screams and sobs louder. "Help! Somebody! Please, they're going to kill me!" he yelled, and before he got to see if someone heard his pleas for help, he was thrown against something, and all sounds from the outside were blocked.

"I think someone saw us! Go, go!"

"Thank Goodness it's over…"

"Over? What are you talking about? Look at him, it's just starting!"

Kyle felt paralyzed all over and he could hear his heart beating in his ears. His sobs quieted down so only fearful squeaks, along with the occasional whimper, were heard from him. His vision was still blurred and unfocused, and he was freezing and hot at the same time. His breathing was quick, he felt like throwing up, and everything was spinning, colors were mixing…

"Hey, I think he's fainting!"

Mixing and swirling to bright shades which became darker by the second, until all was black. He felt like he was slowly falling, but he never hit the ground.

_  
To Be Continued…_


	11. Sunday Morning

**Disclaimer: **South Park is not mine…

**Author's Notes: **sorry about the delay, I've been down with the flu. I feel better now, but I'm weak as hell… I actually planned to write this chapter when I feel like my hands can move around long enough without me beginning to pant lightly, but then I saw in the news that they talked about the rising of anti-Semitism, and I was like: okay, time for some writing!!!!!!

So… yeah…

Anyway, thanks for the reviews!!!!!!!!!!!!

And sorry for spelling and grammar, you know the drill…

* * *

**Four Days**

Sunday Morning: Mutual Feelings

The drive had been quite awkward. Cartman kept on cursing under his breath and saying that once they find Kyle, he'd make sure his Jewish blood would decorate the hood of his car, and the glares of Kenny and himself didn't help to calm his nerves. A few minutes later, though, he remembered that blood was hard to get rid of and gave up on the idea, much to their relief. With Cartman, one could never know when to be careful.

They kept the windows open, since they asked every second person out in the street if they'd seen Kyle. Some said they had, some said they hadn't, but eventually they found him, lying face-down in the snow. It's been a struggle, mostly on Cartman and Kenny's side. They fought to keep him down, and Kyle fought back. Stan stood a few inches away, watching it all, until Cartman and Kenny convinced him to help, and together they put him in Cartman's car and drove away. Kyle fainted quickly afterwards.

When they arrived to Stan's house, Kenny and Cartman helped him to take Kyle upstairs to his room.

"Well," Kenny said once Kyle was tucked well under the covers. "Guess it's time for us to take a leave."

Cartman glared at him. "What?" he asked angrily.

Kenny glared back. "You heard me. We've been around enough, let's leave them alone…"

Before Cartman could protest again, Stan spoke: "You trust me with him?" he asked quietly, unsure himself.

Kenny nodded innocently. "Of course. You just have to be careful… oh, and give him the medicine! It's probably a flu, he should get better soon…"

Stan nodded and then smiled, grabbing Kenny's shoulder gently. "Thanks, dude," he said. "You've been great help… even Cartman."

"No problem, dude. You needed it. Good luck!" Then Kenny turned away and left, dragging a grunting and grumbling Cartman after him.

After they were out of the door Stan looked around, feeling quite lonely all of the sudden. He got ready a glass of water and two pills for Kyle to take when he woke up, and then went downstairs to boil the soup he made the other day. Soup is one of the best medicines for a flu. Well, that and tea, maybe he should make some of that, too.

As he fiddled with the buttons on the stove, he wondered if when Kyle would wake up he'd be delirious again, and then… he shuddered. It took him a long time to convince Kyle that all was alright.

Maybe he should have taken him home. If he did that on Thursday it would have been great. In his home he would have felt secure, and his parents could probably care for him better than what Stan could. The proof for his lousy treatment lay upstairs, broken, dirty, and untrusting.

It made him loathe himself, really. He was trying to make his best friend – no… his _love_ – to feel better, and all he managed to do was to get him to feel _worse_. Some best friend he was…

When the soup boiled, Stan covered the pot with the lid and went upstairs to watch the sleeping boy and make sure he wouldn't attempt to run away again.

* * *

When he woke up he expected to find himself wounded and naked in an unknown room, surrounded by his haters, who would hold bats and chains and start to beat him up as soon as he opened his eyes. When he felt nothing, he frowned, and opened his eyes wider.

He was in Stan's room, and once he checked it, he was still clad in his pajama as well. It was dark outside, and the small lamp on the desk provided the only light. One glance at the clock told him it was six in the morning, and the sun wasn't out yet. Stan was snoring quietly on a chair next to the wall, making Kyle smile slightly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been happy, so much had happened in the course of a few days...

He sat up slowly, fighting against the dizziness. He spotted the pills and water on the drawer and took them. He felt better right away, but assumed it was only in his mind. Those pills should take about an hour to work and make him sweat.

He wanted to leave. He fled from Stan's house once, and he'd do it again. He could not let him fall in love with him.

He threw the covers over him and put his feet quietly on the wooden floor and was about to take his second leave when Stan spoke up: "Going somewhere?"

Kyle gulped and lifted his gaze to look at his friend, who was smirking. "I was just-"

"Running away again?" Stan finished for him, and the smirk turned into a frown. Kyle looked away and nodded. "Why are you doing that?" Stan asked. "Why are you running away?"

Instead of replying, Kyle asked a question of his own: "why do you love me?"

Stan was a bit taken aback. "What?"

"You heard me!" Kyle said, looking at Stan again, this time angrily. "Why do you love me? Why do you kiss me? Why did you give me a blowjob?!"

Stan blushed. "That's a stupid question…" he muttered.

"I don't care, answer it!"

Stan glared. "Fine," he hissed. "You're smart, you're kind, you're beautiful, you're wonderful, you're caring, you're… you're my best friend in the whole wide world…"

"But I'm Jewish," he said and looked down shamefully.

"What does that has to do with anything? "Stan asked and rose from his chair, crouching in front of his bed and Kyle. "Is that about Cartman?" he asked.

Kyle shook his head furiously. "No! It's about… them…" Stan opened his mouth to say something, but Kyle continued before he got the chance. "I'm marked, Stan! However could you want me like this…" and tears sprang to his eyes.

"I don't care!" Stan screamed, gripping Kyle's shoulders firmly. "I don't give a fuck, Kyle! I love just the way you are, with marks or without them! I don't care!" when silence answered, he continued: "is that why you ran away? You thought I would reject you?" Kyle nodded sadly. Stan laughed. "That's ridiculous! I knew about those even before _you _did and I _still _love you! How could you even _think_ that I don't?!" Kyle didn't reply. "Does that mean… you love me, too?" Kyle looked at his friend, amazed, and Stan smiled again, moving his hand to caress his cheek. "Then why did you…? You thought we were them?" Kyle nodded. "You thought we'd beat you up?" again, a nod. "Oh God, Kyle…" Stan wrapped his arms around his friend and held him. "I never meant to…"

"It's okay," Kyle said and wiped his eyes. "I know…"

"Kyle?" Stan asked after he felt the red head shift in his embrace and pulled away, looking at him worriedly. "You okay? Did I do something wrong again?"

Kyle shook his head slowly, smiling. "No," he answered, and in a quick movement he captured Stan's lips between his.

Not long after that, he felt the happiest in a long, long time…

_  
To Be Continued…_

_

* * *

_

**Author's Note: **I'm not pleased with it, but I didn't see it any other way, so…

Be prepared for a twist!!!!! Weekend's over the next chapter and Kyle returns home…


	12. Sunday Evening and Beyond

**Discalimer**South Park does not belong to me.

**Author's Note: **Sorry for spelling or grammar mistakes. Especially grammar, because spelling may be due to the hour, while grammar is something I repeat.

* * *

**Four Days**

Sunday Evening and Beyond: Maybe It's Time…

Most of the day had gone by quickly, for they spent it by sleeping after their latest act. When they woke up, the sun was already down. Stan went to make some food, for Kyle hadn't had much to eat for the past weekend, and he needed the energy. He was ecstatic, to say the least. It has been a long, long time since he felt that good about his life and about himself. He felt as if nothing could bring him down, and he was smiling widely and humming a tune he was sure he forgot as he mixed some ingredients together.

"Kyle!" he called as the aroma pleased him. "Come down here and let's have dinner!"

"What are we having?" The other boy asked as he stepped into the kitchen, looking much better than how he looked during the weekend.

Stan went to him and checked his temperature with the back of his hand. "Your fever went down. I'm glad." He said, and Kyle smiled. "We're having scrambled egg."

Kyle cocked and eyebrow. "And that took you half an hour to make"?

Stan averted his gaze to the fridge, which became so very much interesting all of the sudden. "I uh… learnt how to make it while making it…" he said quietly.

Kyle chuckled. "And it's edible?"

Stan glared at him. "You're going to pay for saying that!"

"Oh yeah?" Kyle crossed his arms over his chest, looking at Stan arrogantly. "How exactly?"

Stan smiled evilly and in a quick movement pressed his lips against his lover's in a kiss that lasted about half a minute. "Like this," he said as he pulled away, leaving a blushing Kyle in favor of the food on the table. He took a bite out of the yellow mess, left it lingering in his mouth to absorb the taste and then swallowed. "It's not bad…" he said, signaling Kyle to join him.

"So…" Kyle started after a few bites. "What now?" when he received a confused look from Stan, he elaborated. "About us, I mean."

Stan frowned in thinking, tapping with the fork on the table. "I guess… we're together."

"Yeah, but what does that mean? Do we still hang out?"

Stan chuckled. "Of course. We'll just have to do it more often. And you'll have to let me know when your house is empty, same goes to me."

Kyle blushed. "I guess…"

After a short silence, Stan went on to another topic, yet this time he chose not to look at Kyle. "Do you love me?" he asked, once again finding the fridge very interesting. When silence was the answer he received, he begun to sweat. Had he been wrong all along? Had he once again forced himself on his best friend?

"No," Kyle answered, and Stan felt as if his heart weighed a ton all of the sudden. "Love is something that has to be developed. To be honest, I don't think I even have a crush on you. Don't get me wrong, dude. I like you and I always have, but as a friend. Yet, I am willing to give us a chance, Stan!" he lifted his arm from under the table and held Stan's in a firm grip. "I think it's going to work. I just… didn't have time to think of it, you know? I had other things on my mind, and they're still there. You can't just expect me to change from liking you to loving you in one night."

"Three," Stan mumbled, and it went almost unheard to Kyle's ears. "You gave me your body!" he said "doesn't that mean something?"

Kyle moved the pieces of eggs about in his white plate, preferring to look at it instead of Stan. "Because I needed you," he whispered in reply.

Stan blinked in confusion. "What?"

"There's need, and there's love, dude. It's easy to confuse between the two, because if you need somebody, and I mean really need them, you can mistake those feelings of need with feelings of love. I needed you, Stan. I needed you to pull me out of my miserable world." He blushed. "And you did a wonderful job at that…"

"So you just used me? Is that it?"

Kyle looked up at him, his eyes wide. "No…" he said quietly. "Well, maybe in a way, yes, but… you did most of what was done."

Stan blushed a deep shade of red. "You were still… Jesus, I can't believe it." He buried his head in his hands and shook it. "I love you," he said eventually, his voice shaking like a leaf in a storm. "I have for some time now… and then I finally do something with it and you tell me you don't feel the same way?"

"You can make me feel the same way," Kyle replied.

Stan looked up at him, bewildered. "Huh?"

Kyle smiled. "What I mean is," he started and moved his hand to caress Stan's cheek. "You can make me fall for you. Love needs to be developed, with patience. I'm… I'm not really myself right now, and I need some time. But I promise you that I'm willing to give us a chance, and maybe, just maybe, I'd be able to make it up to you."

Stan smiled, and just when he was about to make a move the front door opened and Kyle withdrew his hand quickly, instead wrapping his fingers around a piece of bread and munching at it, unsuccessfully trying to hide the blush the crept to his cheeks. Stan went to check who it is at the door.

"Mom, dad," he said as he got to the door. "How was your vacation?"

"Oh, it was great, Stanley," Sharon Marsh said as she put the suitcase on the carpeted floor. "How was your weekend with Kyle?"

Stan blushed. "Oh it was… great, really."

"You guys had fun?" Randy Marsh asked as he entered the house, the bigger suitcase in his hand. Kyle chose that moment to step out of the kitchen.

"Oh, hello, Kyle," Sharon said, smiling widely. "You had fun with Stan?"

Kyle nodded, the blush that was already apparent on his cheeks deepening. "Yeah. I'm going now," he said, giving Stan a last smile before quickly walking out of the door and into the chill of the night.

"Why was he wearing your clothes, Stan?" Sharon asked as soon as Kyle was out of the door and Randy went to make a small dinner.

Stan's blush deepened and he looked away to hide it from his mother. "Oh, he… he'd been robbed on the way here, and his clothes were ruined." Well, it wasn't that far from the truth.

"Robbed!" Sharon repeated, throwing her hand to her mouth. "How awful! Does his mom know?"

Stan cocked an eyebrow at her, taking a step back as if his mother was possessed by a demon and he was yet to make sure of it. "You sure she'd better know?" He asked.

"Of course! She's his mother, she deserves to know!"

"But she'd go crazy over it!" Stan argued.

"Any mother would, hon! Our job is to protect or children, how do you suppose a mother feels when she realizes she failed that job?"

"I-" Stan started, but after discovering he had no reply he bowed his head in shame.

His mother nodded. "That's right," she said. "I hope that Kyle tells her."

Stan looked up at her, shocked. "You're not gonna tell her?" he asked.

She laughed. "No, no… it's none of our business, and Kyle seemed fine, except for a few bruises on his face. Now come, I'll show you what souvenirs we brought…"

Stan watched her leave and wondered if maybe he really should have taken Kyle home from the start.

**oOo**

Something was haunting him. She knew that the moment he stepped into the house. She never saw him, and when she came to greet him he wasn't there anymore. Something in his voice when he said he's back, something in his presence… she knew that there was something wrong. He avoided her, she realized. There was something that he did not want her to see.

There will be no secrets in the Broflovski household as long as she's alive, though, and Sheila intended to keep it that way.

When she was sure he was asleep, she went up to his room and turned on the light. Her son was sleeping soundly in his bed, not noticing the sudden light or her.

She noticed that his face was wounded and frowned. It wasn't like that when she last saw him, and her son was not one to get into fights often. She pulled the heavy blanket from above him and gasped. His pajama shirt was rolled up a bit, exposing his lower stomach. What she saw shocked her beyond words. She pulled the shirt the rest of the way up and the pants down as gently and quietly as she could with her pair of shaking hands.

The marks were everywhere…

At first she wanted to shake him awake and ask him for the identity of the person, who did this to him, but decided against the idea. He got those marks a few days ago by the looks of it, why didn't he come back home?

He didn't trust her, that's why. He entrusted his safety in Stan's hands.

She wanted to ask him who the culprit is and hunt them down, but she knew that chances of finding them were low. It wasn't anyone from South Park who did that, probably…

She left his room, dejected. She failed her one mission to protect her oldest son, the one she carried in her womb for nine months and gave birth to in one rainy afternoon.

She was a failure.

She chased down what she thought was wrong for the young minds of the children, by doing that knowing she's causing them to hate her. But it was for their own good; that was what kept her going and she knew that one day they would thank her for it.

She always protected them…

And now, she failed.

It won't do any good to chase those people down, she decided as she sat heavily on the couch in the living room. The damage had already been done, both physically and mentally. To chase them down and bring them to justice may please her, may please Kyle, but the damage would remain. Things would never be the same.

She remembered that years ago she came to America from Europe with her mother a few years after the Holocaust ended on the paper. They packed a few bags, went on a ship and sailed from that land of nightmares.

At that time, her mother escaped the Jew haters. Maybe it was time for her to pack her bags and run as well. She knew that she could stand and fight, but she also knew that it wouldn't change a single thing.

She always fought, and yet, now she failed. She always fought, and yet, her son had been hurt. What was the point in fighting then?

She stood up and went to the kitchen. She took out a piece of paper she threw in the trash earlier today: she received it at work. Maybe she could use it, after all.

She would go to a place where her son would be safe from all harm, a place where he'd be able to live without suffering from taunts about his religion.

Problem is- nowhere is truly safe. She'd just have to settle on the next best thing, then.

**oOo**

Kyle never came to school on Monday. He didn't come on Tuesday, either. When a week passed and Stan never heard from him, he became worried. So did Kenny and Cartman, although Cartman did a wonderful job at hiding it.

They came to the conclusion that maybe Kyle didn't want to be asked question about his wounds, and thus decided to stay home until they disappeared. That conclusion led to another question, though: that means his mother knows.

Stan decided to put an end to the mystery and went to Kyle's house. He missed him, frankly, and he was worried. He couldn't be _that _sick.

"Oh, hello, Stanley," Gerald greeted as he opened the door. "Come on in, Kyle's up in his room."

"Thanks, Mr. Broflovski," Stan replied and hurried up, noticing various boxes around yet not giving it much thought. He knocked on the door to the red head's room, and Kyle seemed quite shocked to see him standing there when he opened the door.

"What are you doing here?" Kyle asked and pulled him inside, shutting the door after him.

"I was worried," Stan said. "You were absent for too long…"

Kyle looked away. "Oh…"

"What's wrong?" Stan asked and put his hands on Kyle's shoulders gently. "You aren't avoiding me, right?"

Kyle shook his head furiously. "No! It's just that… my mom found out. About the attack, I mean."

"What!" Stan shouted, tightening his grip. "How?"

"I can't hide things from her… she found out as soon as I came back. She undressed me in my sleep."

"How can she do that?" Stan asked, shocked.

Kyle shrugged. "She's my mom, she can do anything she wants."

"And? I haven't seen Police around…"

"Yeah, that's the weirdest thing. She chose to back away."

"_Your_ mom?"

Kyle nodded sadly. "Yeah… I asked her, but she won't explain. She won't let me go outside in fear I might get attacked again. I understand her, really, I just wish that… she wouldn't make us all move."

Stan found it suddenly hard to breathe and licked his dry lips. "Move away? That's… not a big deal" he said, laughing it off. "We can still see each other on holidays, and I cans still visit you. The United States is not that big when you think of it..."

"No," Kyle said and wrapped Stan in a tight hug. "I'm moving overseas."

Stan gulped. "W-what? Where to?" he stuttered.

"Israel."

_  
To Be Continued…_

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**Author's Note: **I actually planned that when I got to chapter four, I think… I'm not trying to send a message. Well, maybe I do XD

I blame education!  
Nevermind that. That was the twist. If I'm incorrect about something from Sheila's past… like, if the show said something different, tell me and I'll fix that.

I wonder how people would react to that... :X

Thank you as always for reading! Please review!


	13. Four Years Later

**Disclaimer: **See previous chapters…

Sorry for spelling/grammar, you know the drill…

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**Four Days**

Four Years Later: End

He felt paralyzed. The only thing that kept him from falling was Kyle, who was holding him so tight he found it amazing he could still breathe. He tried to speak, but no words came out. He could feel Kyle shaking and wondered if he was crying. It seemed to him that he already accepted the fact that he was about to move, and so it came as a surprise to him that he cried. Slowly, he lifted his arms and returned the hug, the news finally sinking in, and he felt his own tears stinging and burning his eyes as if someone stuck needles in them.

"I don't want to go," came the shaky whisper from Kyle. "I don't want to leave you…"

Stan gulped and breathed in deeply. The occasions in which he had to make himself breathe were rare, and this was one of them. It usually happened when he was shocked. "Why?" Stan managed to say eventually, and as soon as the words left his mouth he felt a sob climbing its way up his throat.

"Mom said that there, no one will hit me for being Jewish," Kyle answered.

The sadness was replaced by anger, and Stan pushed Kyle away. "Bullshit!" he cursed, and Kyle looked at him, shocked. "It's far more dangerous there than here! Don't you watch the news?"

Kyle sighed heavily and looked away. "I know that..." he hissed through clenched teeth "but my mom apparently doesn't. This guy came to her work place some day and suggested that we move, because we're a Jewish family. Mom refused, but then she saw the marks and… decided that maybe it's for the best."

"I can't believe it!" Stan exclaimed, throwing his arms up in frustration. Kyle glared and put a finger to his lips, signaling for him to keep it down. "Your mom, who got us in a war with Canada because of some stupid movie is _backing away_?" as soon as the words left his mouth, Stan remembered his mother's words from that terrible yet wonderful weekend, and put his arms back down. "Sorry," he mumbled. "She must be really scared for you…"

Kyle shook his head, smiling sadly. "It's okay," he said. "I… I had a big fight with her, too. I even asked to move in with you, but she refused. It's because of me that we're moving, so it'd be stupid if I didn't come."

"Couldn't they at least let you finish school?" Stan asked, the sadness apparent in his voice.

Kyle shook his head again. "She wants to move as quickly as possible. Next week, I think. On Wednesday."

The anger returned. "What?" Stan hollered, and Kyle once again signaled for him to keep it down. "And just when were you planning on telling _me_ about it?"

Anger and glares seemed to make a wonderful combination, for Kyle narrowed his eyes once again. "I needed some time to let it sink in, dude! I can't just… accept it, you know! This fucking country is damn far, Stan! I needed to accept it myself first, only then could I…" his voice became quieter. "I planned on telling you guys tomorrow."

Both went silent, each in their own thoughts. Stan sat on Kyle's bed and fixed his gaze on the wall in front of him. "How will it be like there?" he wondered out loud.

Kyle shrugged and sat beside him. "I truly have no idea… dad's Hebrew is pretty good, he can find a job. He could help people, who came from America, too. Mom, too, I think, won't have too much of a problem. They said that me and Ike will be sent to a school, where they teach in English."

"Dude," Stan started and shook his head slowly, still somewhat refusing to believe it. "I don't get your mom. How can she even _think _that someplace where you go on a bus and explode is safe?"

Kyle shrugged again and put his head on Stan's shoulder. "I have no idea… I spoke online with some people from there. They said that chances to get in a bombing are pretty low, and it depends on where you live, too…" he gulped before continuing. "But then they said… Stan, there's another problem."

Here came that breathing difficulty again. Stan wondered whatever could be worse. "W-what" he stuttered, kissing Kyle's hairs lightly.

"I'll have to join their army."

That did it. Stan sat up quickly and turned around to face a confused Kyle, gripping his shoulders like a madman. "That's crazy!" he screamed. "Why… why would they do that? It's like… going to Iraq or something!" he didn't even notice the tears, and only when he heard the terrible shaking in his voice did he realize he was crying. "Why do you have to go?" he asked quietly and bowed his head.

Soft weeping from the direction of the bed was his only reply.

**oOo**

"Why is it taking so long?" A black haired boy asked exasperatedly as he paced around on the gray floor, occasionally lifting his head to look at the screen above, and then returning to pacing about, angrier than before.

"Relax," a blond said. "They only landed like… two minutes ago. Should be at least half an hour before they'll come out."

An angry huff was heard from the third person, an overweight boy with brown hair. "Stupid Jew, making us wait like that…"

The black haired boy turned to face him, glaring. "Cartman," he started"why did you come?"

Eric Cartman smiled, though his smile didn't hold any happiness or joy in it. "Why, to see you two fags getting together again, of course."

"Stupid fatass…"

"I still can't believe his parents allowed him to come back for university," Kenny said, breaking the two's fight before it got any worse. "When he left four years ago, it seemed like he was going to be stuck there forever."

Stan smiled widely, drifting off to dreamland. "Yeah…" he said, his eyes glazing over. Yet, after about four seconds of dreaming, the frown returned to his face and he resumed his pacing.

The minutes passed slowly, and by every second, which passed and Kyle didn't come Stan became angrier.

"Hey look!" Kenny exclaimed and pointed. "I think it's him!"

Stan looked up immediately and a smile spread on his handsome face. He forgot about his two friends that came with him and ran, engulfing Kyle in a tight hug. Kyle laughed and returned it. Oh, how he missed that laugh…

"Nice to see you, dude," the Jew said, and Stan could hear the smile in his voice.

"You too," Stan replied.

"Aw, isn't that cute Kenny? Look at the two fags…" Cartman smirked.

"Missed you, too, fatass," Kyle said jokingly, still not letting go of Stan.

"You had fun with the rest of the stupid Jews?"

"Lots. No fatasses around."

"I hate you."

"Why, thank you."

"Will you two cut it out?" Stan asked, finally letting go of his friend. "Kyle, you have everything?"

The red head nodded. "Sure, let's go."

* * *

The reunion party had been great. Kyle told them all about the four years, which he spent overseas. Sure, he kept in touch with Stan and told him a lot, but it was always more fun to hear him saying that when he was in the same room with them.

At about three in the morning everyone left, and only Kyle and Stan were left in Stan's apartment.

After they cleaned the chips and plastic cups from the floor, they placed themselves on the old couch, their feet high on the coffee-table.

"I see you had fun over there," Stan said, leaning on Kyle slightly.

Kyle chuckled. "It wasn't that bad… the first year was terrible. All I wanted to do was to come back and be with you. But… I learned the language and it became easier. Too bad I had to draft, though, but luckily, because of all the operations I had, they didn't put me with the fighting units. Sat in an office all day, like a job from nine to five. But I made a lot of friends, and I got over at what happened back then. Of course, some professional help was needed, but still…"

Stan laughed. "It's been lonely here, really… I've missed you so much." Even thought the position was somewhat uncomfortable, he hugged his returning friend tightly. "There wasn't a day I didn't think of you."

Kyle rubbed Stan's back, smiling. "Same here," he said. "But we can make up for that lost time now that I'm back."

Stan nodded and breathed in deeply, absorbing the aroma he missed so much.

"You know," Kyle continued. "I had a lot of time to think over there, and I realized some things about myself, and about us…" a short pause. "I had to study hard to know the language, and I came upon this one sentence, which describes my realization perfectly. One of the first sentences I learned over there. I actually knew it from before, but I never used it, so I forgot. But know… every night I told myself what I'm going to say to you when I'll come back, and so I never forgot it again."

Stan lifted his head to look at him, smiling. "Oh yeah? What sentence is that?"

Kyle smiled and inched his face closer. "Ani ohev otcha" he said, and before Stan had a chance to ask for the meaning, Kyle closed the distance quickly and kissed him.

When it was over, Stan already forgot about the whole thing. After all, why should he care about some stupid words from a weird language? Kyle was back, and that was all that mattered to him.

Words were meaningless that night.

_  
End._

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**Author's Note: **So how did you guys like it? I think it could have been better, but I didn't see it differently, so… I'm pretty pleased.

I think… they were out of character, and I apologize for that. I'll try to make it better in my next works!

This is one of the very few chaptered fics, which I actually finished! OMFG!

Thank you so much for your support! It really kept me going. Thank you so so so so much, and I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing!

About what Kyle said… if you can't guess, look it up. MWAHAHAHA!


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